One Giant Leap for Mankind
by sophiedb
Summary: (Stargate:SG1 - Quantum Leap) Dr Sam Beckett Leaps into a member of SG1, and a very disgruntled Leapee finds themself in the Waiting Room. Al can't find Sam without their help, but paranoia isn't making his job any easier.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: neither Quantum Leap nor Stargate: SG1 are the fruits of my own imagination, I just toy with the highly unlikely concept that they both exist and co-exist :) Clear as mud?

NB: this story will of course be a little AU for both series. In QL Sam was Leaping from approx. 1995-1999 realtime, though there was only the one point that he Leapt later than 1995 itself. Stargate SG1 started in 1996 (??) - not sure, I don't live in the US so I didn't see it till 1997 - so I'm tweaking the canon for my own ulterior motives.

Constructive criticism from experts on both series will be highly welcome!

* * *

_Theorising that one could travel within his own lifetime, Dr Samuel Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap Accelerator... and vanished..._

Sam was running down a metallic ramp, cradling what felt like a weapon in his arms and some sort of pack on his back. Vietnam? No, definitely not – there were two ither runners ahead of him, and at the base of the ramp he could see something like a giant holding pen in military grey – lights flashing, klaxons sounding, painted pathways and all.

Looking frantically around him he saw something a little like a ship's bridge... or was it an observation post? He couldn't tell, but there was a lot of movement up there too – it looked like everyone was worried about something, and his survival sense told him that it was probably whatever he was running away from! It looked like a couple of doors were opening at the sides of the 'holding pen' – it was filling up with angry looking Marines... very angry... _and they were aiming at him!!!_

Fumbling his feet in his panic and confusion, Sam tripped and landed on the ramp at high speed. He'd Leaped into a tornado before, and a beauty contest, but short of that spell in Vietnam with his brother he hadn't been shot at that often... and certainly not by US Marines!

Landing awkwardly, Sam's face was crushed against the corrugated tread of the ramp's downward slanting surface, and for a moment he gave in to the pain and completely ignored the strangeness of his situation. Then a commanding yell made his face go white with fear.

"Fire at will!"

One of the runners had turned at the base of the ramp – clad all over in military gear to the point that Sam couldn't see whether the soldier was male or female – and was setting up to fire along with the multiplying Marines. Panicking, his only thought was to get the hell out of there... he didn't know who he was, but those Marines weren't exactly asking questions. Then another portion of his mind alerted him to the fact that these Marines weren't firing normal guns!

Sam was a certified genius, but the current situation was beyond him. These guys – at least some of them – were firing energy bolts!! _But they were returning fire!! _Similar energy bolts seemed to be flying over his head from the opposite direction, from behind him, and the Marines below were firing over him – _not at him! _

'Well that's a relief,' he whooped inwardly, before seeing a Marine was struck in the chest. 'Aw, crap!'

On the spot, Sam decided that he sure as hell didn't want to be lightening-fodder himself and entered post-Leap survival mode. Looking over to his side, Sam saw the edge of the ramp. He didn't think he could make it to the bottom safely, but if he could hide under the ramp maybe that would work? The ground seemed to be solid under there, grey-painted concrete... so what was the ramp running down from? No time! Next question? How to get there... without being shot...

"Close the iris!!!" A voice bellowed from all sides, presumably from the observation post above him.

Not waiting to find out what the hell _that_ meant, Sam reached out with one hand and found it covered with a very comfortable but utilitarian black glove. Grabbing a handhold within the ramp he pulled himself closer to the edge of the ramp, cursing the uncomfortable fact that he'd landed with the rifle beneath, then dismissed this as inconsequential next to the pain that Marine seemed to be feeling... at least he did until he tried to back up his handhold with a foothold.

Screwing his mouth up in pain, Sam realised that he'd twisted his left ankle when he'd tripped. Biting down to keep himself from crying out he shifted his right foot into what felt like a crevice and pushed away... a couple of handholds later and he went flying over the edge and onto a concrete floor – yet more pain, but at least he was away from the gunfight... if that's what it was... and a quick look to the top of the ramp showed that whatever had been behind him was indeed the target... but what was it?

All he could do was curl up protectively, eyes wide and mouth gaping, trying to understand what it was that he was seeing, oblivious now to both the pain and the firing. It was a large ring, maybe 6 yards across, with strange symbols around it and red chevrons... glowing... with what could only be described as a pool of water standing vertically within it... and _not spilling out..._a wormhole???

'Travel within my lifetime... travel within my lifetime... can't have gone forward... not possible...'

It couldn't have been more than 15 seconds since he'd Leaped into this hell hole, but Sam felt like he'd used up a few more of his lives and he had no idea where he was, _when_ he was and how the hell he was going to get out of this nightmare. Wishing obviously wasn't going to make it go anywhere. He felt like he'd been thrown into an episode of Star Trek, but he couldn't see any aliens... only humans with the strangest looking weapons this side of the Quantum Accelerator. For a moment he wondered if he was in a TV show like the time he'd Leaped into "Future Boy" – but the guns and injury seemed to suggest otherwise.

Sitting with his back to a cold, concrete wall Dr Sam Beckett looked up to the top of the ramp and stared at the cold reality of that metallic ring. The klaxons had been silenced, the lights no longer flashed, and firing had ceased from those Marines a few yards away... But Sam could still hear gun, or lightening fire hitting what could only be the reverse side of the iris. Was this a siege? Where were they? Was this a last stand of some sort? And more to the point, could they get out? He really wished that Al would turn up, figure out his mission and get him away from this mess...

But then one more bizarre revelation followed the others before he'd had time to finish processing them. Craning his next _around_ the ring, Sam realised that this wasn't a doorway, and they weren't quite trapped, whatever else it might be... because from where he was sat he could see the empty space _behind_ the giant ring.

Suffering from a mixture of pain from his ankle and incredulity from his mind, Sam Beckett suddenly realised that he was about to lose consciousness.

"Oh boy..."

* * *

Whaddaya reckon???? R&R!!! If you want to.. but either way I hope you like it :)

P.S. Can you guess who he is yet? nudge nudge wink wink


	2. The Infirmary

Disclaimer - Stargate: SG1 and Quantum Leap have nothing to to with me, and I worship the ground that their creators walk upon. Honest :)

Thank you so much to the people who have already reviewed, you are stars!! Phish Food all round!! And to Jumper Prime, you're right and I should have spotted that before uploading.. I shall try to do better from now on.

NB. Because this is set in the earlier days of Stargate, Sam Carter is still a Captain, Janet is alive and Daniel hasn't even thought of the word 'ascended'. Sam Beckett, on the other hand, is about as confused as a person with no sense of humour watching Monty Python.. but he does indeed have a lot of relevant doctorates to help him get up to speed as far as the Stargate is concerned.

PS. I don't know how many people have watched both Stargate and Quantum Leap, so there will a few explanatory paragraphs making an appearance. Just basic background information, hopefully correct in a quick Cliff Notes kind of way.

* * *

Sam woke up slowly to the smell of disinfectant and the throbbing pain of his right ankle. God that hurt, but it felt like it had been professionally strapped up. At least he was lying down, presumably in a bed... not a very comfortable one by all accounts, so probably a hospital gurney.

Thanks to the scientific miracle that was Project Quantum Leap, Dr Samuel Beckett – now a patient in this unknown military hospital – had spent the last year trapped in the past, 'Leaping' from life to life, setting right what originally 'went wrong' in his own timeline, thereby changing the future for the better. It hadn't meant to work that way, but the Government had threatened to cancel the Project so he had stepped into the Quantum Accelerator to prove that it worked – and by the time anyone had realised what had happened, he was trapped in this transitory existence. There was no questioning God, time, fate or whatever it was that picked his destination and mission, but his best friend Admiral Albert Calavicci – Al – and the hybrid computer Ziggy usually came up with the answers.

The strangest aspect of Leaping was that Sam essentially became another person for the duration of each Leap, looking and sounding exactly like they did thanks to an 'aura' around what was Sam's own body, but without their knowledge or personality. As a result he had not seen his own reflection for over a year, but whenever he looked down he still saw his own body. He certainly retained his immense IQ of 267 and most of the knowledge that went with his 6 doctorates, but it became a very real mission to convince the Leapee's friends and family that he was the same person each time, else he might be thrown in the nuthouse... and having Leaped into one once before, Sam was in no hurry to go back.

His unwitting host was in turn translated to the Project's 'Waiting Room', where Al would question them to get an idea of when and where Sam had Leaped, before he himself stepped into the Holographic Chamber and appeared as himself in holographic form thanks to Ziggy pinpointing and transmitting directly to Sam's neurons. Al was continually torn by interrogating a person who looked and sounded like his best friend in the Waiting Room, and identifying the outward appearance of the Leapee back in the past, who walked and talked like Dr Sam Beckett... and who didn't really know what that meant, because his mind was constantly being 'swiss-cheesed' by the Leaping process, leaving gaping holes in what he remembered of his own life. Both Sam and Al hoped that one day Sam would be able to Leap home, but until then all the staff at Project Quantum Leap funnelled their energies to getting Sam from one Leap to the next.

Now finding himself in the place of yet another Leapee, Sam caught snippets of conversation nearby, but definitely not at his bedside. The language was English and the accents were American so there could be some cause for joy in that. Then again, he still had no idea when, where or who he was, and the last thing he could remember sure as hell wasn't helping him settle in comfortably. A ramp, a giant metallic ring, and Marines firing the strangest guns he'd ever heard didn't tie up to anything he knew how to deal with. The Universal String Theory that he and his mentor, Dr LoNigro had developed suggested that he could only Leap with his own lifetime, which put a lower limit of 1953 on his time travelling. Since he had first Leaped in 1995 they had always assumed that he would never Leap farther ahead than that date, but right now Dr Beckett wasn't at all certain. Short of an injection of intelligence from Al, staying 'asleep' was the best thing he could do.

Concentrating hard, Sam tried to distinguish between the sounds around him. There was the sound of a wheeled trolley rattling past his bed, the sound of ventilation – or was it suction? – and a couple of heart rate monitors going... but it didn't sound like either were close enough to be attached to him and he couldn't feel anything touching his skin other than sheets and his ankle. Hushed voices were speaking nearby, something about a Lieutenant running into enemy fire – a war zone? A field hospital then? The Gulf War? But it couldn't be, he'd seen those weird energy bolts and that... that room with the... the Ring... no, it wasn't the Gulf War, not unless there was something the US Government wasn't letting on.

His face must have shown something, because there was another sound like a person pushing himself up from a seat right next to him... so he had a visitor already?

"Jack? Hey Janet, I think he's waking up! Jack, you scared us there – it's normally me who does the tripping remember? Jack?"

A male voice, adult, but lacking military confidence. Out of place, from what he knew of this Leap so far.

Sam suddenly wished that Al were here, but he could tell that the Admiral wasn't simply by the lack of handset-like bleeping sounds – and his best friend's smoker's voice definitely wasn't one of those in the background. The hushed conversation in the background ended and footsteps came close to his bed – he could almost feel the doctor's eyes probing for signs of consciousness.

"Thanks Daniel. Now, let's take a look here. Colonel? Can you open your eyes for me please, Colonel?"

This voice was female, self-assured, but concerned. Janet, presumably. The doctor? At least Sam was getting an idea of who he 'was' now – someone named Jack who was a Colonel. Someone who merited a hospital visitor when all he'd done was twist his ankle. Nice, but he sure hoped that Jack wasn't short for Jacqueline!

"Daniel, what made you think he was waking up?"

'Thank God,' though Sam, 'I'm a man!'

"He looked like he was thinking about something nasty, but he didn't really move," the man named Daniel replied, sounding a little worried. "Maybe he was dreaming, but still –Jack would normally be up and away by now."

Well at least they wanted him to wake up, but Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to himself – not after what he'd seen when he Leaped in!

"Hmm... you're right," the doctor mused. Her voice sounded like she was moving around the bed. "He shouldn't be out for this long – it was only a quick sprain, though he might have gained a concussion when he fell off the ramp."

Suddenly Sam felt his right wrist being lifted and, surprised, he flinched involuntarily. Presumably 'Janet' had been about to measure his pulse, but now she had confirmation that her patient was somewhat aware of his surroundings.

'Damn!' he swore internally, before making waking-up noises to try to fool the lady doctor and Daniel into thinking he'd just overslept. Not much point in hiding now, but he still wished that Al was here – and he was sure that between his Leap and the time spent in this bed, Ziggy should have narrowed him down by now! He really wanted to know why God, time, fate or whatever had sent him here – so he could do what needed doing and get out without too much physical or mental scarring.

"Welcome back, Colonel."

"Hey, Jack."

The two voices greeted his re-entry into this nightmare military world. Voices belonging to a pair of normal looking people from what he could tell as he blinked his eyes and focussed. A short woman with tied-back reddish hair and a doctor's lab coat – bingo! – probably in her early forties, and a younger man wearing military style clothing. This didn't fit the voice of 'Daniel', but a more thorough glance showed that this man was definitely not a soldier. He looked scruffy despite the regulation gear, was wearing a pair of glasses that looked like they'd been sat on a few times, and had pens and a notebook hanging out of his pockets. A civilian scientist on a military base?

'Janet and Daniel, I presume,' Sam named them in his own mind, committing their faces to his photographic, yet swiss-cheesed, memory.

"Um, morning guys," he said, not sure what this Colonel Jack guy would say in his shoes, but thinking that it reflected the mood of these two people – concerned yet cheerful. "What did I miss?"

His observers breathed a visible sigh of relief.

"Colonel, it's still the same evening that you and SG1 returned from P3X-970 under fire. You took a fall down and then off the ramp as you came into the Gate room – do you remember?" Doctor Janet was brisk in her appraisal of the patient. Definitely military then, and certainly not a nice private hospital with a TV and pot plants from what Sam could see.

"Erm, yeh – I was trying to get out of the Marines' way, out of the firing line. My ankle feels sprained though; I must have landed on it badly," Sam replied, confused by the reference to P3X-something but sticking to what he knew. "It's a bit fuzzy from there on in. Did I bang my head?"

Any chance to seem rightfully confused was worth a shot when this out of depth, he figured. Thankfully the doctor – Fraiser, by the name on her tag – was inclined to agree.

Nodding, Janet continued. "I think so Colonel, you fell unconscious when you fell off the ramp, but there was no external bruising and you seemed to be, erm, sleeping normally."

Her slight smile as she finished made Sam think that she was having a little joke with the man she thought was Colonel Jack. Time to play along.

"Are you accusing me of sleeping on the job, Dr Fraiser?"

This time it was Daniel who chuckled. "Well you earned it, Jack – you took two watches last night. I'll bet you only got 3 hours sleep – and then those Jaffa... let's just say General Hammond isn't altogether worried."

Janet smiled and took his wrist in her hand, feeling for the pulse again. "Yes, I'd say you're only a little worse for wear this time Colonel – no hostile wounds to any member of your team, and a mere sprained ankle that will keep you in crutches for a few days. The General has declared SG1 as off-duty for 5 days anyhow, so you have plenty of time to recover."

This time the pair really seemed to angling for a response, but Sam had no idea what to say. Was it to do with the crutches, or the off-duty part, the General maybe? Instead he clutched at something unrelated and half-remembered from the Leap to Vietnam where he'd saved his brother, Tom.

"When do we debrief?"

Daniel's eyes flickered to Dr Fraiser for just a moment before he answered.

"Erm, Sam already debriefed while you were asleep – I came by straight after. General Hammond would still like to see you when you're able and he'd prefer the written report to come from you, but I think he's gone home for the evening now – his granddaughters are coming round."

'Great, another Sam to deal with – but if I'm supposedly off-duty for a few days I should have some time to figure out what's going on with this place.'

"Fine thing, Daniel – remind me to thank Sam later. So, Doc – when can I get out of here?"

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Doc Janet and Daniel were grinning again.

"Not just yet Colonel – you still have a suspected concussion, remember?" The doctor seemed to take some strange form of glee in this announcement. "But don't worry, there no needles required for a sprained ankle so long as you don't try to stand on it too soon. You have to rest and let the swelling go down."

"Unless I use crutches, right?" Sam queried.

"That's right – unless you use crutches." That grin was still there, but Sam couldn't think why for the life of him. "I know, I know, no self-respecting O'Neill would be seen dead with a pair of crutches. The infirmary is blessedly quiet at the moment though, so we can spare this bed overnight – Daniel can even bring down your paperwork in case you get bored."

So that's what it was. This Jack... O'Neill... hated crutches _and_ he had something against paperwork. Maybe he was a soldier's soldier then, but one who'd been promoted enough to warrant forms in triplicate for every action he took. Hoping against hope that he could role-play this man until he Leaped out of here, Sam grabbed the bull by its horns.

"Crutches? Paperwork? Man, this spell off-duty gets better and better! Forget it Doc, just give me a good book and I'll send myself to sleep, ok?"

By the look on their faces, he'd hit bullseye – thank the Lord. He may have even bought himself some time to think all of this over, wait for Al to turn up and eavesdrop on enough conversations to understand this place a bit better.

Daniel laughed, "I can bring you that translation from PX7-418 if you like, Jack."

There it was again – a 6-digit sequence of letters and numbers that could refer to anything, but probably a place. Top-secret code? A designation, like Area 51? Sam wasn't sure, but he decided to take the chance that this might give him some useful information. He was dead certain that Daniel wasn't military by now though – this guy had used 'his' first name, not his rank. A team mate, by the sound of it – maybe a good friend too, since he'd sat by his bedside.

"Yeh sure, Daniel –"The other man's expression became what could only be described as 'gobsmacked', so Sam decided to take a different tack. "It's better than one of the Doc's sleeping potions any day!"

Looking at him quizzically, Janet picked up the conversation again. "Maybe I should run an MRI before I head home, Colonel, just to check you didn't bang your head harder than we thought."

Sam gulped and thought quickly. He was very definitely in the near present if a doctor could mention an MRI so off-handedly... and if they were common enough that one might be run on a patient with minor head trauma... Trying not to appear too stricken, Sam took another look around this infirmary – and to his sudden concern, it had familiar gadgets everywhere. There was no doubt about it – this was modern hospital, close enough to the one he trained years ago. And being military, he was sure that they knew all about the body of Colonel Jack O'Neill... the body that might look like it was sat on the bed, but was actually sat in the Waiting Room at Project Quantum Leap, not too far in the future.

Whatever the case, Sam wanted to get away from the possibility that Dr Fraiser might run an MRI on him. He didn't want to risk the possibility that while they saw him as 'Jack', an external machine would almost certainly reveal his brainwaves to be those of someone else. He was probably lucky that his 'accident' hadn't required a blood transfusion – if Jack had a different blood type, Sam would be revealed as a fraud _and_ suffering a real medical emergency!

"Don't trouble yourself Doctor, I'm fine and I'll be out of here in no time," Sam offered with an easy grin. "Go home, have a nice evening, enjoy yourself – no need to worry yourself over me."

Janet hesitated, then nodded. "Ok Colonel, your call – just have a good night's sleep and I'll check you over in the morning."

"Sounds great," Sam replied, with a trace of finality in his voice. A cop-out reply, he knew, but going through the motions was the best way to survive until he knew what he was up against. Hopefully they would take the hint and leave him alone for a while, and Dr Fraiser certainly did. Daniel, the civilian, didn't take orders from a 'Colonel' so lightly it seemed.

"If you need anything, just ring ok?" Daniel indicated the phone on the wall nearby. "I'll be in for most of the night going over that translation."

"Fine, Danny, fine. Just keep burning that midnight oil."

Sam just wanted to curl up and think, so he sounded like the impatient, grumpy patient he was. Daniel, on the other hand, looked somewhat hurt at his words.

Trying to make it up, Sam carried on. "Sorry, that was unfair. I just don't like being cooped up in here with a sprained ankle, ok?"

"That's ok Jack," Daniel replied looking a little chirpier, but still concerned. "I get stuck in here often enough that I know how you feel. Just don't forget to ring if you need anything, ok?"

"Will do Danny, will do," Sam responded to Daniel's retreating back, suddenly struck by another thought.

To all intents and purposes, Daniel seemed like a normal guy. A civilian in a military installation that had obviously been on the sharp end of a hostile attack that same evening, but still normal. So why on earth would he spend much time laid up in the infirmary?

"Where the hell are you, Al?" Sam whispered, unnerved.

* * *

Next chapter: Jack in the Waiting Room.


	3. The Waiting Room

Disclaimer: Neither Stargate:SG1 nor Quantum Leap belong to me... in fact nor do any other series, and I have no intention of claiming that they do. I hereby swear that I will try to play nicely and not damage any of the lovely characters.

Reviewers – ta muchly, you're all great! Keep on reading, pretty please with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top!

Raneko – cheers for the comment however I should point out that I believe in the 'other' theory, i.e. that Sam's entire body switches place with that of the Leapee. I base this on episodes like "8 ½ months", where Al & co were checking up on the Leapee's impending baby _in the Waiting Room_ then were shocked when the baby vanished and appeared back in the past with Sam. Also when he Leaped into a chimpanzee and was able to swim easily, since a chimp can't float like a human due to less fat in their bodies. I always did wonder how he managed to fit into some people's clothes though :)

* * *

Jack felt a bit woozy. He was used to the sensation of being sent through the Stargate, being de-molecularised and all that, but this felt worse. At least the Stargate would put you back together in one piece, and it didn't normally give you this kind of headache. Maybe he was hung over, he couldn't tell – had he even been drinking last night? – and it hurt to think.

Colonel Jack O'Neill was part of an elite force that explored the galaxy via what was known as the Stargate. Their role was a highly classified one, because to all intents and purposes no one in the US government wanted the world to know that not only did aliens exist, but also that some of them were just waiting for an excuse to destroy Earth. The role of Stargate Command (the SGC) was to monitor and constantly re-evaluate this risk, create friendly links with other planets, and to seek technological alliances to keep their greatest enemies, the Goa'uld, at bay. It still sounded to him like something from Star Trek on a bad day, but he had the physical and mental scars to prove that it was not.

The Goa'uld were a near-immortal parasitic race that took possession of human bodies, relegating the personality of the host to the position of a helpless observer. Their true form looked somewhat snake-like, attaching itself to the host's brainstem in the neck area. More to the point the Goa'uld dominated much of the galaxy via the use of the Stargate network and their space fleet, enslaving whole planets by convincing their inhabitants that they were gods. While the highest ranking Goa'uld – the System Lords – did indeed possess god-like powers via their technology, the SGC knew that in reality the Goa'uld were no such thing, and they worked to free and ally themselves with other peoples in danger of attack. Thousands of years ago the Goa'uld enslaved Earth itself, until a rebel uprising had driven the false gods from our solar system – and if we could do it, so could others.

Jack O'Neill was one of the first humans from Earth – known as the Tau'ri – to step through the wormhole created by the Stargate, and was now the commander of its flagship team, SG1. His team also included Dr Daniel Jackson, another member of both the first mission and now SG1, a disgraced archaeologist who was now in the unenviable position of having proved his theories but unable to tell anyone in academia about it. Captain Samantha Carter, a brilliant astrophysicist who helped research and understand the workings of the Stargate prior to its use, was now SG1's scientific expert, studying further alien technologies first hand. Finally, the fourth member of SG1 was Teal'c, the former 'First Prime' of the System Lord Apophis – he had once commanded a vast army in the name of his god, but was now one of a growing number of rebel Jaffa (soldiers who incubate Goa'uld larva as a source of great strength and healing) who fought against the Goa'uld.

Back on his bed, Jack's semi-conscious mind took in the lack of noise in his surroundings, bar a low buzzing, and what seemed like bright light shining through his closed eyelids. A subliminal alarm bell rang, bringing him to full alert. Where the hell was he? He was lying down but it didn't feel like there were sheets over him like in the infirmary, though the presence of a mattress made it clear that he wasn't in a tent or – based on previous experience – in the hands of the Goa'uld. In fact, what was he wearing? Because it sure wasn't BDUs!

Lurching upright, Jack instinctively noted the orientation and height of the bed, swung his legs round, jumping down and landing on his feet in a fighting stance. What he wouldn't give for his MP-5 right now, but years of experience had taught him the value of keeping in shape and in practice for close hand-to-hand combat. Whoever was holding him here would have a problem on their hands, and since he seemed to be wearing some kind of long white leotard – his mind baulked in shock at the mere concept of this – he would also be a very slippery problem. If 'they' wanted to dress in up in some gym costume fit for the Mardi Gras, 'they' would pay the price – with interest!

Scanning the floors and walls, Jack established that the only contents of this room – other than himself and the bed – were a small table, an empty glass and a jug of what looked like water. Damn, he was thirsty. He couldn't see any doors or windows, but the whole room seemed to be painted in a fluorescent pearly white, if that were possible. The air wasn't musty so there had to be ventilation in there somehow, but given the number of advanced races he'd encountered this Colonel was ready to accept that he wouldn't be able to see everything. What he did regret though, was the lack of an obvious means of escape... and any sign of his team.

Confident that if he was going to be attacked he'd either have every chance or no chance of seeing it, Jack decided to investigate the bed, table and water. On first glance they seemed pretty normal, and the 'water' did smell perfectly harmless, but being Jack O'Neill he wasn't about to fall for that trick. He'd spent months in an Iraqi prison and been tortured by Goa'uld from here to breakfast time, so a little thirst was the least of his worries. He could wait, and in the mean time he would rest because he'd taken two watches last night so he was dog tired. That little table and/or the glass and jug could serve as basic weapons should he need them, and they were right by the bed. Nice. Time to settle down.

Power napping was a favourite pastime of Colonel O'Neill's, mainly because he rarely got the chance to have a proper sleep when he was off world. Half the time he was either on watch or trying to get comfortable on a highly uncomfortable patch of ground, and the other half of the time he spent in a prison surrounded by Jaffa and their staff weapons. In comparison this spell in captivity was pretty good so far, but he still wanted to know where Carter and Daniel were. Presumably Teal'c was still visiting his son on Chulak, so at least one member of SG1 should be free, but as for the others... The last thing Jack could remember was running through the Stargate to escape a couple of Death Gliders, but instead of coming through to the Gate room he'd woken up here. Curiouser and curiouser, but not a mystery that he was going to solve by losing his sarcastic wits to fatigue.

Dozing lightly, Jack managed to catch a few winks while remaining superficially aware of his environment. He even managed to dream a little, and just as he and Teal'c used a lightsaber to catch the biggest trout he'd ever seen, his eyes opened and he was fully awake. Someone else was in the room, which meant that there was a door somewhere. There it was – the noise of a door sliding shut mechanically. A rarely used technology on Earth. Alien?

Deciding to check out his captor, Jack discarded his original plan of grabbing the jug and knocking whatever-it-was out. Instead he sat up slowly, propped himself up on his elbows and turned toward his captor and – he presumed – soon-to-be tormentor with a sarcastic grin. He was almost taken aback by the sight of a normal looking human, probably in his early sixties and wearing garish clothes – garish, but still within the realms of 'fashion' (something he himself avoided at all costs). Not to be outmanoeuvred, Jack chose to proceed as planned.

"How's hanging?"

"Slightly to the left – and you?"

Jack's mouth fell open. He'd never met an alien, whether human or not, with a sense of humour so close to his – and almost as few people on Earth. Another thought struck him. Could this be a ploy by the NID? Had they redirected the Stargate somehow? The NID were continually undermining the SGC's efforts on alien worlds by stealing artefacts and disrupting diplomatic relations – they were the vultures who saw their mission as to protect Earth at all costs, unlike the SGC who had a much broader code of conduct: protect Earth without creating any more enemies. He'd infiltrated them once and had their main base shut down – so they certainly had a motive to capture him.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, service number 69-4-141."

Name, rank and number was all that the NID were entitled to as far as he was concerned, and Jack wasn't at all certain whether it was even worth giving them that. The other guy didn't look too happy to hear those words anyway – he was frowning, his shoulders sagged, and Jack could almost hear a mental plea of 'why me?'

"Stand easy Colonel, this isn't a hostile situation. Just relax," said the wacky dresser, resignedly. "You've been caught in part of an experiment funded by the US Government and we're going to try our best to get you back where you belong as soon as possible, ok?"

Jack smirked. Either the Goa'uld were slipping or the NID had run out of ideas, because this one was _bad_. He worked in a secret government project, remember? No way was he going to crack at a piddly excuse like that.

The funny little man seemed to be waiting for an answer, and eventually he ran out of patience.

"Colonel O'Neill, my name is Admiral Albert Calavicci and I run this facility. Call me Al if it makes you more comfortable. I need your cooperation to get one of my men back, because for one reason or another you have taken his place in this room – do you understand?"

Jack kept on smirking. He didn't believe this guy one bit, and the story he was putting out was kind of entertaining. This Al sure didn't look like an Admiral either, and he said so. "Standards must be falling out there on the water, Al."

"Ha, ha," was the dry retort. "I wouldn't know – I haven't been out of New Mexico in years, and they don't have much water round these parts."

"New Mexico, eh? Sweet!" Jack was warming up, thinking that he might be able to do a little reverse interrogation. "So, are we anywhere near Roswell? I could take a tour. Or is it Los Alamos this time? I never can keep track of you fellas."

"Us... fellas?"

To his credit, the funny little man seemed to be genuinely confused. Jack had a moment of doubt, then decided to clam up.

"Look, I'm not saying a word until you tell me where I am and what the hell you want. If you want to torture me, that's fine too because I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime – it doesn't even hurt any more."

Ok, maybe he'd clam up after getting in one last shot for information. Jack figured that his best bet now was to either trick this 'Admiral' into releasing some information, or to take him hostage and find that door. Funny boy could decide his own destiny.

Al squinted his eyes and looked closer. "Tortured? I was tortured too. Vietnam. I was MIA for 4 years, but they all thought I'd been killed. When they finally found me, my wife had already re-married. I think that was worse torture than anything I got from the Cong."

So he was going to play on the sympathy vote was he? Jack turned this over in his mind and quickly decided that playing along couldn't hurt.

"Iraq, 4 months. That was the first time. You don't need to know about the rest. My wife left me too, but not the same way."

'No,' he remembered painfully. 'Sara left me after Charlie topped himself with my goddamn gun.'

Al let the silence hang there before he spoke again. Jack couldn't figure out why, but he wasn't about to fill the gap. When it came though, it wasn't what Jack had expected.

"Sam has a wife too, you know. Sam Beckett, that's his name, and his wife has no idea when he'll be back. He's been put through the grinder for so long that he doesn't even remember that he's married. Can you imagine that, Colonel? Can you imagine how that much hurt both Sam and Donna? He's my best friend, and you're standing where he should be."

This was either a low blow, or a pitiful attempt at making him feel sorry for Al and this guy Sam. Anything was possible – Jack of all people was prepared to accept that by now – but somehow he still wasn't too happy with this arrangement.

"Uh-huh? You're saying that we switched places somehow," Jack questioned. After receiving a nod from Al and what looked like a hopeful frown, he carried on. "And how exactly did that happen, _Admiral_?"

Al looked like he was thinking. He even sighed a little.

"That's classified, son. I can't tell you. All I need to know is the last date you remember and where you were. If you can't give me that, this will take a whole lot longer."

Jack felt a little guilty under Al's stare, unnecessarily so as far as he was concerned. _He_ was the guy trapped in this godforsaken room full or white light, dressed in a white leotard of all things. This so-called Admiral wanted a date and a place? Well he sure as hell wasn't about to get them. Whatever else it was that he wanted, he wouldn't get either. And since Jack's security clearance was sky-high he didn't rate Al's reference to 'classified information' much. It was safe to say that Jack didn't care whether this guy was NID, Goa'uld, Tok'ra, Tollan, Abydonian or whatever – his lips were sealed.

Al seemed to take the hint, and he looked harassed and frustrated to boot. That was his problem, in Jack's opinion, and he was prepared to take the consequences.

'Hit me with all you've got,' his eyes said, defiant.

Looking reluctant, Al nodded. "Ok son, have it your way." Then, raising his voice, he yelled, "Gushie!"

Jack flinched involuntarily and closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't quite a Jaffa "Kree!" but obviously the guy was calling for someone or something, and while he knew he could take the pain he also welcomed the chance to prepare his body for whatever came next.

But it didn't come. Instead he heard the swishing sound of a sliding door once again, and realised – too late – that Al was safely out of the room and his only known exit was closed. He could see its faint outline in the wall now, so faint that when he looked away for a second it became difficult to refocus on, and there was nothing to hand that could help him prise it open.

Jack was alone in the bright white room, wearing the bright white leotard, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

* * *

Next chapter: Daniel's office.


	4. Daniel's Office

Disclaimer: Neither Stargate:SG1 nor Quantum Leap belong to me... in fact nor do any other TV or book series, and I have no intention of claiming that they do. I hereby swear that I will try to play nicely and not damage any of the lovely characters.

Reviewers: once again, please take a bow because you are superstars! 'Healthy' low fat, 100% sugar marshmallows all round this time :)

Raneko: apologies and I now understand the confusion – I've never read any of the books, so I didn't realise they take a definite side on the body/mind debate.

* * *

Daniel was in a real quandary. Here on his desk was a photographed plaque that showed writings in both the 'Universal' language of elements used by the alliance of 4 races at Heliopolis and another language. The trouble was that for all his skill and knowledge he couldn't translate either. Next to him was a series of photographs from PX7-418 that SG5 had brought back a few months ago, taken of a mural on that planet – but none of the inhabitants had a clue what it was or what it meant. The symbols, however, matched those from this plaque that SG3 had found on P2Q-198. He knew that if he could solve the one, the other might soon follow – like the Rosetta Stone here on Earth – and he felt sure that he'd be able to crack what he'd dubbed 'cunei-runes' long before he would the so-called 'Universal' language. On the other hand, he wasn't getting anywhere with either of them right now.

His frustrated gaze shifted to the daybed on the far side of his office. General Hammond had authorised it months ago after realising that his resident archaeologist wasn't a fan of going home each night, preferring to funnel his energies into long-term bursts of problem-solving instead. With a responsibility for maintaining Earth's security from the Goa'uld threat, Hammond had simply given in to common sense and supplied a bed for when Dr Jackson ran out of either steam or his beloved caffeine. It wasn't Daniel occupying the bed right now though, but Colonel Jack O'Neill.

For some unknown reason, Jack – _Jack!_ – had stumbled on his way down the ramp when they came back from P3X-970, spraining his ankle and somehow knocking himself unconscious. Daniel hadn't seen it because he'd been cradling an artefact from that world that needed to be placed in containment straight away – it contained traces of naquadah, the extra-terrestrial element used in many Goa'uld technologies, so Sam had wanted it safe in her lab. Furthermore – and despite Jack's comment that it resembled something for making popcorn – a minor Goa'uld named Hemuset had valued it enough to send her Jaffa running after them. So now Sam was up late in her lab trying to understand the 'popcorn machine', Daniel was trying to translate two languages at once, and Jack... well, SGs 6 and 8 had come back from PJ1-427 with wounded so he and his ankle had been shipped out to Daniel's office in a wheelchair. It was too late to send the Colonel home, and Daniel didn't mind. He'd never heard his friend snore quite like that before though.

Looking back to his photos, Daniel frowned and went over his conversation with Sam earlier in his mind.

"I couldn't believe it Daniel. I got to the end of the ramp, saw that you were safely out of the Gate room, span round to return fire, and all I could see was the Colonel lying flat on his face! At any other time I'd have found it funny, but not with Jaffa still aiming for the wormhole, you know?" Sam's face was incredulous as she paced up and down in front of him, gesticulating madly. "Then instead of rolling on his back and getting out his MP-5, or coming down the ramp, he pushed himself off the side, presumably hit his head, curled up in a ball and fell unconscious!"

"_We're all concerned about him Sam, don't worry," Daniel had said, trying to soothe his teammate. "It is weird, I'm not denying that, but Janet says he'll be fine. At least he wasn't hit, and there's only a sprain to his ankle. Besides, General Hammond is standing us down for 5 days so you'll have plenty of time to work out what this thing does while we wait for Teal'c to come back from Chulak." _

"_Yeh, well, it's just not like him. Jack O'Neill is far too experienced to be tripping over a ramp, and he certainly isn't one to run away from a fight." Sam was defiant in her frustration._

"So what are you saying Sam?" Daniel responded. "That Jack is getting old? Or that somehow a Goa'uld got into him without leaving a scar? I don't think so."

_Sam had crossed her arms and propped herself up against one of her workbenches. "No...I guess I'm just not used to the Colonel slipping up, or getting injured – especially not like this. It's...weird."_

_Laughing, Daniel went to what he thought was the heart of the matter. "Good point, Sam. Slipping and getting hurt is normally my bag, I know that. Daniel the clumsy spacemonkey with allergies from hell."_

"_Jack's not perfect though, no-one is," he continued, leaning up next to Sam and putting an arm around her shoulders. "Chances are an energy bolt flew too close and set him off balance, or maybe he has an inner ear infection, I don't know. Either way that's neither here nor there, because injured or not the Jack O'Neill we all know and love is going to be out of that bed in no time, poking his nose into your experiments and my research, driving us both nuts." _

_Now it was Sam's turn to chuckle. "You're right – he'll be uncontainable, demanding to know what the hell was so important about this damn object to make him twist his ankle for crying out loud."_

_Her impression of their commanding officer – well, hers anyway, since Daniel was a civilian – was so accurate that they both dissolved into fits of laughter._

"_Now, now Captain Carter – I, erm, I don't think that's any way to speak about your superior officer!" he managed to get out. "And besides, you know that if you try to explain why it is so important he'll look at you as if you're speaking ancient Greek. English for the stupid people please, Carter?"_

_Another wave of laughter followed before they both realised that while they had broken the tension, they still hadn't resolved anything. On the other hand, Jack was fine, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about... maybe it was simply the realisation that he was just as fallible as any other human being that had set them both on edge. SG1 was a team, and with Teal'c visiting his son Ryac and mentor Bra'tac they were already one man down. Not only that, but they were parts of a whole and the Colonel was the leader of that whole. _

"_Thank God it was just a lousy ankle, eh Sam?" Daniel offered, hoping to receive a sign that his friend had gotten it out of her system too. He was used to playing the devil's advocate, but rarely had to when it came to his own team._

"_You've got it Daniel, you've got it." Sam straightened her clothes and pushed her hair back into place. "Anyway," she continued, standing up straight, "I'd better get on with the preliminary analysis of this artefact. If the Colonel's right and it is a popcorn machine I'll never hear the end of it!"_

_Daniel nodded cheerfully, "Super, and I'll get back to those cunei-runes. Might see you by the coffee machine at some small hour of the morning then?"_

_His reference to their common habit of working all hours scattered the last wrinkles of anxiety in Sam's expression. "I expect so Daniel – just don't expect to see me there as often as you. We're not all caffeine junkies you know."_

"_Fine then," the archaeologist smiled and waved, "see you when I see you! And good luck with the popcorn machine."_

And that had been the end of the conversation, all bar a crumpled sheaf of paper that had sailed through the air and hit the back of his head as he walked through the door. It had to have been Sam who threw it, since both her lab assistants had gone home for the night, but he'd decided not to give her the benefit of a reaction.

Right now though, he allowed himself to feel a tremor of worry. After all they'd been through he shouldn't be this concerned about something as small as a sprained ankle, but Sam was right – it wasn't like Jack to slip up like that. Sure he could be brash and sarcastic, winding up even the calmest people without trying, but he was an experienced officer who could usually cope with anything that was thrown at him. Physically he was in far better shape than most people his age, with the agility to match thanks to regular one-on-one practices with Teal'c. More importantly, he was Daniel's best friend and it worried the archaeologist that there might be something wrong that he didn't know about.

Sighing, Daniel pushed his chair back and stood up. It was time for a walk and some late-night java. Picking up the extra-large thermos mug – or should it be jug? – that Jack had given him for his last birthday, Daniel headed out of the door and shut it quietly so as not to disturb his guest. At least the guy sounded like he was getting a good night's sleep for once...

'And at least he can't mess up my stuff while he's snoring,' Daniel mused, trying not to chuckle as he remembered some of the unmitigated havoc that O'Neill could wreak on a defenceless lab.

Padding through the corridors of the SGC, Daniel contemplated how much quieter the base was during the night. That was the real reason he enjoyed staying back late, and he knew it. The base became as dead as an old library at times like this, because the only people who stayed behind were those with work to do – plus those on duty. It reminded him of his years back as a doctoral student, burning the candle at both ends to get his thesis finished, and later pursuing his own research – then being laughed out of academia for his sins. Sometimes he thought that it might be nice to go back to those days, maybe even set the academic world straight, but then he wouldn't be part of SG1 and wouldn't have met his lost wife, Sha're...

Rather than facing a fresh wave of melancholy, Daniel hurried up. There was no one in the way at this time of night, so he could even extend to a light jog. Nodding to a disapproving Airman guarding the main corridor toward the Gate room and other operational areas, Daniel turned a corner, passed by the swing doors to the base canteen and entered its small off-shoot and his destination – the staff kitchen.

'Oh heavenly source of caffeine!' he exulted, noticing the near-full level of the coffee machine and noticeable lack of oily scum. A fresh pot of coffee, just waiting to supply a tired archaeologist with his midnight hit – or perhaps the medical staff dealing with SGs 6 and 8. Taking a small bottle of milk from the fridge, he closed the fridge door and reached up to the cupboard above and noticed the clock on the wall, reading with a shock that it was nearly 2am.

"0200 hours, if you please Dr Jackson," he mumbled under his breath as he rummaged through the cupboard, mocking the Marine Gunnery Sergeant who was constantly trying to teach the civilian consultants at the base proper military etiquette. They couldn't say he wasn't working for his pay, now could they?

His hand pushed a few more packets aside then found what he was looking for – a knobbly foil packet, closed up with a twisted wire tie. Soon he was fumbling with the packet and one hand and the milk in the other, so Daniel decided to put them down and do one thing at a time. Packet first. Unwinding the tie, he brought the opened top to his nose and breathed deep.

"Oh yes, this is what I came for," he murmured happily.

Tipping the packet up, a few small brown balls tumbled out into Daniel's hand and he happily stuffed them in his mouth. You couldn't beat chocolate covered coffee beans at 2 in the morning, and in his opinion there just wasn't anything better. Then again, thanks to Janet he had promised to leave the packet here by the coffee machine so that he didn't eat too many. Ruefully he had conceded her point, and now kept them tucked away behind innumerable boxes of herbal tea left by other base staff. For the most part they were left alone there too, since no one wanted to annoy the SGC's top archaeologist.

Chewing with gusto, Daniel moved on to frothing up a little milk and made his giant mug of coffee.

'Strong and dark, like his women,' he joked to himself, repeating a comment he'd heard on TV way back when he'd actually watched one, then stopped in mid-chuckle. Sha're had been strong in heart and mind, with deeply tanned skin, near-black hair and brown eyes that he'd been happy to drown in day in day out. Now her body belonged to the Goa'uld Ammonet, Apophis' queen.

Daniel put down his coffee and tied the packet of coffee beans back up, replaced the milk in the fridge and stomped off towards his office, grasping the mug as if he could strangle it and not caring one iota that he spilt some of the hot coffee over his unprotected hands. There was no kidding anyone about why Dr Jackson remained so dedicated to the SGC, and the opportunity for research was only part of it.

Back at his office door he pushed it open with more violence than most would ever see from the mild-mannered archaeologist – probably because despite his open behaviour he was a very guarded man, opening his private thoughts only to those he trusted and cared about. Those thoughts were close to the surface now though, swamping the mental reminder that Jack O'Neill was asleep on his daybed. Or had been.

"Daniel?" The other man asked, rubbing his eyes. "Is everything all right?"

Standing still in the middle of the room, taking deep breaths and clutching his extra-large mug of coffee, Daniel felt remorse that he'd allowed his feelings to get the better of him. More than that he'd woken up his best friend, who was now pushing himself up and round to sit upright on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry Jack, it all just fell out from under me again. After everything we've tried, everything we're doing, I still have no idea where Sha're is or whether we'll ever get her back."

He hung his head, blew a sigh of immense sadness, and made his way round the desk to sit down. "I shouldn't have woken you up – it was just a door, but it was in my way. I forgot that you were behind it."

Jack didn't seem annoyed, thankfully. He was leaning forward, hands clasped, his bandaged right foot resting lightly on the floor while the left took any weight. Trying not to yawn too much too, by the look of it.

"We'll find her Daniel, don't worry about that."

Daniel wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but there seemed to be a gleam of hope in his friend's eye as he said the oft-repeated words that no longer meant anything to Daniel. It wasn't Jack's fault – or anyone else's – they were all helping, but his search was secondary to the SGC's mission, and Apophis was a System Lord who they could not target directly... yet.

"The sooner the better, Jack. Look, I have some coffee in this bucket you gave me – if you'd like some you're welcome to share. I warn you though, it's Daniel-strength and the time is 2am. What do you say?"

Jack winced visibly. "Maybe not Daniel – I may as well make some attempt to get back on to standard time."

"It's 9am in London, Jack – that's a standard time too you know."

"Ha ha," his friend responded sarcastically, again with that gleam in his eye. "No, I'll take the sleep option thanks. Good night, Daniel."

"Sweet dreams," the archaeologist returned with a small smile.

Jack was fine – he just needed some time to heal. Didn't they all?

* * *

Next chapter: Project Quantum Leap.


	5. Project Quantum Leap

Disclaimer: Neither Stargate:SG1 nor Quantum Leap belong to me... in fact nor do any other TV or book series, and I have no intention of claiming that they do. I hereby swear that I will try to play nicely and not damage any of the lovely characters.

Reviewers: you stars! For today's treat we have Sainsburys 'Taste The Difference' Chocolate Mousse – it's absolutely massive. Imagine a bottomless pit of lovely fluffy cocoa-ness and you have it right there :)

ellenar: I would love to do daily updates, but I can't quite get there... 3-5 a week I can handle though (depends how bored – and cheeky – I get at work!)

NB: I've pieced together the details for this chapter from assorted websites, and not all of them match. A lot of it is educated guesswork based around what the series lets on and the normal course of events in the military, e.g. rough dates of Jack's promotions and what sort of studies he might have done at the Academy.

Jack's year of birth is definitely an odd one though – I know that during "Brief Candle" he said he was 40 years old, backtracking to 1957... however I have also been informed that his ID in another episode states 1952. He graduated from the USAF academy in 1974 though, therefore I have decided to go with 1952 – I do think that Jack is smarter than he lets on, but not quite smart enough to be an officer at the age of 17!

As for his birthday, guesses are welcome as to how I plucked that one out of the air :)

* * *

Al swept into the operations room at Project Quantum Leap, and it was immediately evident to anyone who saw him that he was pissed. Every once in a while a Leapee who just didn't want to know came along, and this O'Neill guy was one of them. What made things more annoying was that he was military, so they'd probably have a harder time of locating Sam simply because military moved around a lot more than normal people – or worse, were sent to places that few people knew about.

Bracing himself for the worst, Al sank into a chair and fixed his gaze on Gooshie.

"What have we got, Goosh? Tell me where Sam is."

Gooshie, for his part, carried on working around Ziggy, occasionally glancing back at the Admiral... who was still waiting. Al knew that he must have _something_, because the Waiting Room contained plenty of microphones to collect and record conversations with the Leapees. With a name, there came information, and he wanted it.

"Come on Gooshie, if it's bad, I wanna know now so I can go pump this guy for more information." With no response from the Project's Head Programmer, Al turned to the brightly lit modules in the centre of the room – brighter than his clothes even. "Ziggy, honey, can you tell me what's going on because Dr Gooshman here isn't helping matters."

As ever, Al was surprised when Ziggy answered in a seductive, feminine voice. It wasn't that the parallel hybrid computer was a 'she' that bothered him – though he didn't have the greatest track record with females – but that a computer could sound so... sexy. He almost found himself flirting with her sometimes, as an automatic reaction to being in a woman's presence. It also put him on edge, as if she might try to sue him for alimony without ever having been married. Lord knew he'd spent more time around her than he had some of his ex-wives, though at least his current girlfriend, Tina, actually worked at the Project. Al knew that Ziggy's creation and programming had been a breakthrough in artificial intelligence, but why the hell did Sam make her _female_? It gave him the heebie jeebies.

"I'm afraid that we haven't found any useful information as yet, Admiral. Colonel Jack O'Neill, it seems, has had a long and secretive career. I am current requesting permission to access certain military archives in order to locate Dr Beckett more accurately."

"More accurately?" Al almost jumped out of his chair. "You mean you do have an idea then?"

"Um, yes and no, Al," Gooshie piped up. "We know that Jack O'Neill has been a black ops man for most of his career in the Air Force, and he's got a lot of medals, but even the small amount that we can access happened _before_ he became a Colonel. We're having trouble tracking him down after that promotion, and since he's still listed in the USAF files as a Colonel we could find that Sam is any time from 1993 to the present day."

'That's all I need,' thought Al, trying to think of anyone he could lean on to get hold of that extra security clearance. Ziggy could already interface with most of the databases in the United States relevant to Project Quantum Leap, and some abroad – whether full of newspapers, demographic data or service records – but even Al's high level permissions didn't extend to the present day... yet. He knew that there were excellent reasons for maintaining confidentiality over the whereabouts of certain personnel, but when Sam was at stake he didn't give two hoots.

"Ok Ziggy, give me a run down on everything we've got."

Still a computer despite her artificial intelligence and 'Barbara Streisand' ego, Ziggy acknowledged the Admiral's command and displayed pictures and data on a monitor while she listed the details so far.

"Jonathon O'Neill, born January 23rd 1952 in Chicago, Illinois. Raised in Minnesota and still owns a cabin there, inherited from his grandfather. Entered the Air Force Academy in 1970 aged 18, graduated 1974 and noted for 'Academic Excellence Achieved in Military Sciences and Engineering'. Trained in the flight of numerous military planes, but no indication that he was ever assigned pilot duties. Bachelors degree in Aeronautical Engineering gained 1974, Masters in Military Strategic Studies in 1985 just prior to his promotion to the rank of Major."

'Ok, this is my kinda man. A flyer with an education,' thought Al, thinking back to his days at Annapolis and MIT. 'I can deal with this...'

"Further training and commendations. Captain O'Neill received a statue and plaque from the Air Force Special Operations Unit at Mildenhall Air Base, England in 1990, circumstances unknown. In addition, Major O'Neill took part in unspecified training at Langley, Virginia and completed the Air Commando Operations Course in 1992. As a Lt. Colonel he was recognized for 'Excellence of Achievement While Conducting Special Operations under the auspices of the USAF Space Systems Command' – details unknown."

Al's face was resigned. If this guy was Special Ops, and recently, they were going to have a hard time tracking him down... He really was going to have to lean on someone. Then again, the mention of "USAF Space Systems Command" gave him a little hope since many of the guys running that show had done a tour at NASA round about the time he'd worked there himself. There was a good chance that he could phone an old friend with some enquiries, if they could find a plausible explanation for trying to track down a certain Jack O'Neill that is.

"Medals awarded to the present day," Ziggy continued, "include the National Defence Service Medal, Air Force Commendation Medal, Air Medal, several Purple Hearts, Bronze Star, Silver Star, Distinguished Service Medal and the Air Force Cross."

"What?" Al shot out of his chair, interrupting the computer in mid-flow.

"I can repeat if you wish, Admiral," she suggested with such sultry sweetness that Al was sure she knew what he was thinking.

This man had more medals than he did, and he was nearly 20 years younger! It didn't bode well, since the US hadn't taken part in too many major wars since Vietnam and this guy would have graduated to late for that pleasure. That, and there might just be a mite of professional jealousy tucked away inside himself – though Al reminded himself that he had also been one of the last men on the Moon before the Apollo program was shut down, which was much better than any damn medal.

Gooshie, still working on the other side of the room, looked like he was trying not to laugh. Al, on the other hand wasn't keen on giving the strange pair any more material.

"Sorry, Ziggy – carry on, carry on," a generous smile replaced the frown as Al waved toward the monitor, ingratiatingly. He could be gracious, magnanimous even, couldn't he?

"No active duty recorded, nor circumstances surrounding the award of medals despite over 20 years' service," the hybrid computer picked up where she left off. "Certain mission details have been extrapolated from confidential Pentagon reports however. In 1982 Captain O'Neill took part in Operation East Fly, mission to retrieve a Russian agent known as Boris from East Germany. The mission was deemed a failure when snipers killed commanding officer Colonel John Michaels and several other members of the team."

Al shook his head, tut-tutting quietly, but waved again to indicate that Ziggy should continue.

"There is also a record of a Major Jack O'Neill refusing counselling following a relatively long period of captivity during Operation Desert Storm. All that we know is that he escaped alone and made it out of the country while severely injured. No other details recorded, but it would seem likely from your conversation with Colonel O'Neill that this is the same man. It would be safe to assume that this followed a covert operation, as he was not listed as an active participant in the Gulf War."

"That would be a fair guess, wouldn't it Gooshie?" Al commented, sarcastically. Ziggy was the world's most powerful and intuitive computer, so she rarely needed to guess. Al, on the other hand, was an impatient old Admiral who was getting grouchier by the minute.

"Major O'Neill was promoted to the rank of Colonel in 1993, however Colonel O'Neill has so far retired from the Air Force _twice_, both times in 1996. Reasons unlisted, however he was evidently recalled to duty in both instances and is listed in current files as being on the staff at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex in Colorado. Project described as deep space telemetry."

"Ha!" interrupted Al, yet again. "That's all we need, another staffer on an underground, top secret base with no link to the outside world."

"May I continue, Admiral," Ziggy asked, all politeness now. Sometimes Al really wanted give her a good kick in the hard drive, he really did.

"Yes, dear lady, please go on."

"Personal details. Married wife Sara in 1986, one son born 1987. Death of son Charlie in 1996 aged 9, verdict misadventure. Newspaper report indicates that the son accidentally shot himself using his father's weapon at home. Refused counselling once again, but retired for the first time shortly afterwards. Reinstated briefly in the same year, before second retirement. Divorce papers lodged during this return to duty by Sara O'Neill. Records suggest second reinstatement during 1997."

Al sat forward, his face in his hands. He'd never had children, but he did know the aching void left by his sister Trudie. When you had no-one else to turn to, the loss of any family member of friend was a major blow.

He fought back tears and blinked hard, standing up again and moving round to Gooshie's terminal. "Ziggy, was Jack O'Neill a Colonel when his son... died?"

"Yes, Admiral, he was," the computer affirmed. "Based on the information available, this appears to be the most traumatic period in Jack O'Neill's life and we can only assume that it damaged his physical and mental well-being significantly. In addition, despite his double reinstatement to the USAF – both at his previous rank – there is a 90% probability that the reassignment of an officer experienced in covert operations to what is essentially a defensive research facility was due to a decreased ability to handle his normal duties."

Admiral Albert Calavicci nodded slowly. He'd known a lot of men who had served their country brilliantly and with immense strength and resourcefulness, only to be struck down from their careers by... something. Not necessarily the wish to raise a family without fear of their kids losing a parent, nor a failed mission, nor even a particularly long spell in the field hospital hooked up to all kinds of machines that no one ever wanted to think about - it could literally be anything. It always seemed to be the best ones who were hit the worst too. They could bounce back a hundred times before they were felled for good, and nothing was quite the same again afterwards. If they didn't find anything to live for during that initial period of grief, loss, remorse, whatever, it was like they'd never been there at all. Some people said they were in the 'badlands,' but Al called them the 'lost.'

Then again, the Colonel O'Neill that he'd just met – for all that he looked exactly like Sam Beckett right now – seemed too aggressive, too defiant to be one of the 'lost'. Not unless he was hoping that someone would break him, punish him... That was a possibility, since the kid had died through his dad's weapon – there had to be some feeling of guilt in there. Maybe this had translated into an unfulfilled wish to commit suicide, and he simply couldn't do it himself.

"Ok Ziggy, so you're concentrating on the time leading up to Charlie's death, right? Is Sam supposed to stop the kid from dying?"

Gooshie looked up, even more wild-eyed than usual. "I'm afraid not Al – we've just run a comprehensive search for Sam's neurons across the whole of Colorado for the 6 months before and after that incident, and we can't find him anywhere."

"Shoot!" Al vented, as vehemently as he dared in the presence of Ziggy's unpredictable cybernetic ego. "Well I guess it can't be the Gulf War or that thing in East Germany since he wasn't a Colonel then. This is going to be a tough one."

Gooshie nodded, while Ziggy's brightly coloured modules continued to flash intermittently. "All we know is that Sam could be any time from 1993 to the present day. It's a lot to search, especially since we have no idea where Jack O'Neill was for most of that time – he could have been anywhere in the world!"

"Gentlemen," Ziggy interrupted. "My sensors indicate that Colonel O'Neill is now asleep in the Waiting Room, and I suggest that you do the same. If his time zone is passing through the night at this point, Dr Beckett's will do also and since the time here is also late it would not do either of you any good to tire yourselves out. I am more than able to continue the search for Dr Beckett in your absence."

The two men looked at each other, one blinking, the other rolling his eyes and shaking his head in despair.

"Yes, Mom."

Al hated it when she pulled something like this on them, because he knew that even though her beloved creator was on the line she would refuse to allow either of them access to her data or her controls until the morning.

'Damn ego...' he grumbled inwardly, not wanting to risk his chances any further by annoying the irritating computer.

"I left Tina at home anyway, so I should be getting on – she'll be keeping the bed warm for me I'm sure."

This time it was Gooshie's turn to roll his eyes. "You don't deserve that woman, Al, you really don't." 

"Hey, she can leave me if she wants can't she? I keep no secrets from my girl, and couldn't even if I wanted to because either you or Ziggy here would probably spill the beans."

"Gentlemen?"

It was no longer a polite request, even though it was framed as such, so the two men headed toward the door.

"Ok Ziggy, your call. See you at 0600 hours?" Al questioned, wondering for the umpteenth time who was really in charge of this project.

"6am...?" Gooshie shuddered, even as Ziggy assented that yes, Project Quantum Leap would resume operations at 0600 the next day.

"Fine then, I'll see you folks in the morning. And find out more about that telemetry project if you can, Ziggy – I know Sam doesn't tend to Leap to the recent past, but you never know. If you have no luck by morning, I'll start calling in favours."

And with that Al walked through the door, still in something of a mental tangle but otherwise conscious of Ziggy's practicality in sending them home. Typical woman. He and Gooshie rode the elevator together, exiting the Stallions Gate facility after flashing their ID to the Marines on duty. Drawing one of his trademark cigars from his coat's breast pocket as he walked to the car, he stuck it in his mouth and chewed contently. Lighting it would come later, for now it just felt right – like an extra appendage that had been outlawed due to anti-smoking laws.

"See you in the morning, Gooshie!"

"Ok, Al!" Came the reply from the other side of the car park. "Don't stay up all night!"

'Yeh right, like I could sleep at a time like this' thought the Admiral, as he climbed into his experimental model car. It had originally be a 'perk' of the job, but now he just saw it as one more thing that his friend Sam - the real driving force behind Project Quantum Leap - should have, along with a normal life, but couldn't.

* * *

Next chapter: Sam's lab 


	6. Carter's Lab

Disclaimer: Stargate:SG1 and Quantum Leap are nothing to do with me.

Reviewers: the treat of the day is... Options Belgian Hot Chocolate - less than 40cals per drink :)

NB: I'm working on the basis that Sam Beckett has 6 doctorates and 1 masters, due to various comments by Al over the years. Various episodes proved that he has doctorates in Medicine, Quantum Physics, Ancient Languages and Music (yes, I do believe that this man is either far too intelligent or has too much time on his hands!) - so I've added Artificial Intelligence and Neurology to his doctorates (makes sense considering Ziggy and the neural holograms), plus Archaeology as a masters.

* * *

Sam woke up to find Daniel shaking his shoulder gently.

"Jack? It's early, but Sam wants us to drop by the lab before seeing General Hammond. Jack? Wake up, Jack..."

A whiff of the strongest coffee he'd ever smelt was the final wake-up call. Now Sam knew what Daniel had meant earlier in the night.

"Ok, ok – I'm awake! But get that mug away from me," he laughed. "Do you have anything to eat other than solid caffeine?"

A small candy bar sized wrapper flew towards him across the room, full of... something. It looked like military issue, but he couldn't tell.

"Power bars!" Daniel commented cheerily, digging into one himself.

Making a judgement that this was probably safe to eat, Sam peeled it open and took a bite. A bland, dry, cake-like substance – but sugary at the same time. Possibly a hint of guarana. It struck him that to a scientist-cum-academic who enjoyed all-nighters, this was probably the ideal foodstuff – but it wasn't exactly appetising.

"Nice," he thanked the Leapee's 'friend', having finished the power bar in 3 bites. "That'll do fine until we reach the canteen. I'm healing remember, need real food."

"Uh-huh," Daniel mumbled. "Well the canteen won't open for another hour at least, so this will have to do for now."

"What?" Sam was wide-awake now. "What time is it, and where did you sleep, Daniel?"

"On my desk, as usual – the General gave me that bed months ago, but I never seen to make it that far. Oh, and it's 6am."

Sam resisted the temptation to blink in alarm. He and military bases didn't mix much, though a trip to a lab sounded interesting... then again there were plenty of artefacts in this room that he'd love to get his hands on too. It didn't sound like he had much choice though, whatever time of day it was, so he may as well take the opportunity to get out and gather some more information – it wasn't as if Al had materialised during the night, unfortunately.

"So," Daniel continued. "What do you fancy – crutches or wheelchair?"

Sam screwed his face up, certain that this would be Jack's response. "Let me give this a shot first..." he ventured, putting down the empty wrapper and making an attempt to stand up.

Quick as a flash, Daniel ran around the desk and grabbed Sam under the arm just before he collapsed in pain. That ankle wasn't going anywhere, he thought grimacing.

"Wheelchair, O'Neill, right now."

"Yessir..." Sam managed a weak grin and a salute. "You're the boss."

As he was 'chauffeured' through the base to another Sam's lab, Sam Beckett prepared himself to ignore all conversation directed at someone with the same name – and attempted to record a mental map of this facility. It could get awkward otherwise. That and this was the ideal time to go over what he knew so far, since Daniel was concentrating far more on manoeuvring the wheelchair more than he was on chatting.

'Number one,' Sam thought to himself. 'It is either the 20th or 21st September 1998, and probably in Colorado or New Mexico.'

He'd seen the date on the release forms they'd asked him to sign before leaving the infirmary, upon which he'd made a bit of a scribble, knowing that in this situation the medical team wouldn't be that fussed about a perfectly correct signature. Sam was aware that it could easily have been before or after midnight, hence the 20th or 21st.

Daniel's reference to London earlier had given him a link to time zone though, which also helped. The obvious conclusion here was that he was in the Mountain time zone of the US, since the uniforms were American, unless summer time was out of sync with the UK. More to the point, if it was September 1998 he was very _very_ close to the 'present'.

'Number two,' he continued, 'we are 28 floors underground.'

This was obvious in several ways, and was the reason why he thought he might be in Colorado or New Mexico – home to numerous secret installations. On their way to from the infirmary last night they'd passed an elevator shaft with "-28" written on it, and he hadn't seen a single window yet. Plenty of ventilation shafts though, and lots of strip lighting. That made it a particularly secret sort of installation, even more so than Project Quantum Leap, which was a mere 10 floors below ground. Interesting.

'Number three, this place is run by the USAF... but there seem to be some members of other forces here.'

He'd seen Marines anyway. What they were doing here was another matter, and one he didn't think he'd discover by himself. The fact that they were working together was interesting enough.

'Four – Daniel is a civilian, and he's lost someone called Shar Ray.'

Dr Daniel Jackson, from what he could tell. At least, he knew the guy's name was 'Daniel', the office door had 'Jackson' written on the outside, and this office was chock full of ancient looking artefacts and books, lots of books. Far too many for a student, who would never be trusted with this kind of material outside a lab, library or museum. An archaeologist then? Possibly, and if so Sam hoped he'd be able to get up to speed fairly quickly since he had a Masters in Archaeology and a doctorate in Ancient Languages. He'd even Leaped into an archaeologist five, six... maybe seven... Leaps ago, exploring the tomb of the Egyptian pharaoh Ptah-Hotep. That had been the topic of his Masters thesis, so for once he'd fallen on his feet pretty well.

As for Shar Ray – he guessed that the first name was a nickname or short for Sharon – he or she could be anyone, but was obviously very important to Daniel. Given his phrase "after everything we're doing" it seemed that her loss was linked to this base, though how was still a mystery. With any luck, finding Sharon Ray would be Sam's mission.

'Number four, what are these places – possibly people – beginning with P?'

He'd heard three so far: PJ1-427 (where the new wounded had been), PX7-418 (where Daniel's translation had come from) and P3X-970 (where his host had apparently been earlier). Without Ziggy's help though, Sam didn't think he'd be able to crack this one. He was pretty sure that they were places, maybe even code designations, but there wasn't enough information to take him much further.

'And number five.'

Sam didn't even want to say it, but he had to. What the hell was that giant ring? The impossibilities – or unknowns, as he forced himself to think – surrounding that thing were immense. The fire fight, featuring strange energy bolts. The lack of anything behind it, despite and obvious ramp to it. The fact that it was 28 floors underground and seemed to be an obvious source of hostilities. And no one else was batting an eyelid.

Sam Beckett knew that his mind was swiss-cheesed, but he wasn't stupid. Something strange was going on here, and he didn't think that if he'd known about this he would have forgotten. The 64 million dollar question was: did Al know?

Finally they reached their destination, and Sam discarded the wonders in Daniel's office in favour of a more familiar paradise – it was a physicist's lab, hallelujah! And, if he wasn't mistaken, there was a lot of theoretical numbering going on on that blackboard.

"I know, sir, it's all gobble-de-gook."

The feminine voice shook him out of his reverie. He'd been staring at the board, reading his way through the unfinished equation and trying to fill in any gaps he could... very unlike Jack O'Neill, or so it would appear.

Spinning round on his larger axle, Sam faced what could only be described as a beautiful woman. Short blonde hair. Lab coat. Military kit underneath. Another consultant? No, she'd called him "sir". Who was she?

"Morning!" He greeted her brightly, attempting to remove his foot from his mouth.

"Yes sir," the woman replied, saluting. "I took the liberty of drafting a report of our visit to P3X-970 for you – I don't think General Hammond will be able to note much difference, Colonel, and it seemed fair considering your, um, injury."

Sam accepted the brief blankly, unsure of how to respond but returning the salute so she could 'stand down'. He remembered someone mentioning a report last night... Thankfully, Daniel was there too.

"Hey Sam, that's really great of you. Isn't that great, Jack?"

The man in the wheelchair picked his chin off the ground and tried to agree in a coherent kind of way. He'd gotten the wrong end of the stick there all right – her name must be Samantha! And she must also be on his 'team.' Talk about missing the point.

"Um, yeh, thanks Sam..."

Daniel and Sam looked at each other quizzically, before the woman replied with a worried look.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to insult your ability or anything – I just thought that it would save you time. I shouldn't have presumed."

She seemed to be awaiting a judgement of some sort, and Sam – grasping at a possible rejoinder – suddenly spotted a possible get-out-of-jail-free card. The name on her lab coat came into view: "Carter". He might not know her rank, but since she'd saluted him and called him sir, the chances were he could get away with this.

"No apologies necessary, Carter – that's just great. I don't know how to thank you."

He'd put on a big grin to match the enthusiastic words, hoping desperately that it would work. No response.

"Carter, stand down. Thank you, I gladly accept your report and I will submit it to General Hammond after reading and inwardly digesting in case he asks me any awkward questions. Are we clear?" A nod. Phew! "Now what are we here to see?"

Carter sprang back into action, moving around the table and waving for Daniel to push him in that direction also.

"Colonel, I've completed the preliminary analysis on this artefact that we picked up yesterday. I can't yet find out what it does, but I have discovered some microscopic writings around its base."

Sam looked at Daniel, guessing that this was usually his speciality but still not understanding why. The other man seemed pretty keen though, whisking copies of the writing out from Sam's hand straight away.

"Yes, I know this dialect – ok, it's something about a shield to protect the _ka_," Daniel's thoughts rushed straight from his brain to his mouth. "Oh wait... but we got this from Hemuset – she was a goddess of fate and protection in Egyptian mythology, with a guiding role over the _ka_, which was a bit like a soul."

He looked up, pushing a small amount of hair away from his glasses. "I'm going to need more time. This could be just her trademark, or the Goa'uld equivalent of 'Made in Taiwan', but obviously we want to be sure."

"Goold?" asked Sam, realising that his pronunciation was incorrect at the last minute.

"Yes, Jack," Daniel affirmed with a sigh. "And how many more times do I have to tell you that it's 'Go-ah-oold'?"

Sam could hear the 'other' Sam – he was going to have to call her 'Carter' in his head – trying not to laugh. Evidently this Jack O'Neill was a respected officer... up to a point. Maybe it was just the academics that slowed him down, although these two were obviously both teammates and specialists who knew Jack very well. Either way, the phrase "Goa'uld" obviously meant something to everyone bar himself. Maybe he should read this report and see if he could find out something more, but first...

"Ok Daniel, so you have yet another translation to get going on. Carter – any translation regarding those scribbles on the board?"

Sam knew that he was fishing for clues, but it looked like Jack O'Neill was this woman's senior officer – despite her being a strange mix between scientist and soldier – he decided that it was Jack's right to ask. 'Theory of wormholes,' he bet himself.

"Oh, I'm trying to understand how the Ancients set up the Stargates to create wormholes. Obviously we know how to dial, but we're still not sure on the mechanics of the wormhole's creation or how they maintain its stability. It's fascinating, but I don't get enough spare time to concentrate on it since we keep bringing back these popcorn machines for me to analyse."

Sam's mind was reeling from the consequences of Carter's words before she'd even finished, and the gleam in her eye told him that this was a practical analysis – not up-in-the-air theory. Wormholes he could deal with, but not those talked about in the present tense nor controllable ones. 'Dialling' and 'Ancients' was even more confusing... but how could this be the near-present if the US Government had a way of controlling wormholes from a facility deep underground? And more importantly, where did they go? Was that what he'd seen when he'd Leaped in? Thoughts and ideas were falling into place, but they still didn't make any kind of sense that he understood.

"Sir?"

Sam realised that he must look like a stunned mullet – and no wonder. 'Popcorn machine.' His mind grasped at the phrase like it was a life preserver - it had to be an in-joke of some sort, because he'd heard Daniel mention it when she'd called earlier. This could buy him some time.

"Err, just let me know whether it does sweet, butter or salt, ok Carter?" Sam replied weakly, but grinning, hoping that it made sense while he pulled himself together. "Now, is there a terminal round here where I can go through this report while you two can carry on playing with the popcorn?"

"Of course sir, just over there." Carter gestured. "Would you like me to wheel you round?"

"I'm not an invalid, Carter," Sam growled in what he hoped was a passable imitation of Jack O'Neill.

"No sir, of course not," Carter apologised, seemingly unsurprised by the comment. Even Daniel snickered in the background. "I'm already logged into the machine so you shouldn't have any trouble locating the file."

Taking a deep breath, Sam took a hold of the wheels' handrails and manoeuvred himself in the direction Carter had pointed. He had no idea whether this would help answer his questions or not, but after years of Leaping he sure hoped that he could remember how to use a modern computer... and that he didn't hit too many security barriers.

'Stop twitching, Beckett, you have a doctorate in Artificial Intelligence and you designed the world's first ego-driven computer,' he tried to remind himself, suppressing the little voice that yelled, 'you've got bigger holes in your memory than a block of Emmental!'

Absent-mindedly he noted the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, confirming that the date was indeed 20th September 1998. He knew he was stalling.

'Good work, Beckett, now stop procrastinating,' he chided himself. 'Onward and upward.'

Finding the draft report on the mission to P3X-970 was easy once he got started – it was the most recently open document – but its contents flummoxed him. So he read a couple of other reports, being organised very neatly on a tree according to 'place'. It looked as though Sam wrote one on most of the 'places' they visited, usually those where a new technology was discovered, and there were many references to something called 'naquadah' - a compound or element? Sam couldn't tell, but since he still couldn't make head or tail of this mystery he kept reading.

Many mission folders included a report by Colonel O'Neill, most of which requested a password to access.

'Maybe even some more clues to this man's personality – bonus!' thought Sam, double-clicking on any files that didn't require a password.

After reading a few of them he could see that Carter had mimicked her commanding officer's style more than adequately – she'd even used similar turns of phrase. He shouldn't need to change her draft at all, which was a relief since he had no idea about any of these missions, let alone the most recent one. Sam guessed that those he could access were the most peaceable missions though, and they seemed to be about contacting isolated tribes and making alliances against a common enemy called the Goa'uld.

This left him wondering yet again how this team could get attacked so regularly in what he believed to be 'peacetime', and who were the Goa'uld? Not only that, but where on earth did they manage to find this many isolated tribes who hadn't been contacted by modern society – Sam was sure that ethnographers had mapped just about every culture there was. Maybe not all, but there couldn't be this many left – especially since the team he now knew to be 'SG1' was one of several that went on similar missions. And judging by these reports, not all of these tribes were primitive. This was getting more confusing by the minute!

Next he tackled the reports signed by Daniel Jackson, mostly open access. These contained many translations from ancient languages he didn't entirely recognise – confusing in itself, since Sam had at least a passing knowledge of everything from hieroglyphics to runes – plus references to ancient Egyptian gods, sarcophagi and even the Norse gods. Daniel referred to them in the present tense though, which worried Sam greatly. He remembered Daniel's earlier reference to Hemuset – as if they'd gotten the so-called 'popcorn machine' from her. It didn't make any sense, almost like what Al called 'crazy talk', and not wanting to feel alienated from this younger man who he already felt he could trust to some degree, Sam closed those files and went in search of anything that could help him bring all of this information together.

Finally he found it, right what appeared to be the 'open access' section of the common drive for this base. "An Introduction to Stargate Command, with a foreword by General George Hammond." A video file that looked like something given to new recruits. Ideal.

'Ok, this is definitely a military base, Carter mentioned something called a Stargate and Daniel mentioned a guy named General Hammond who wanted to see me this morning. Stargate Command could well be the place...'

Sam quickly looked over his shoulder before opening the file, checking that Carter and Daniel were still hard at work with the popcorn machine. They had obviously forgotten that he was there, and certainly hadn't noticed that their 'Colonel' was close to having palpitations. Typical scientists.

Turning back to the screen, he smiled grimly and double clicked the file, putting the headphones next the monitor on his head so he could hear the audio, hoping – praying – that this could clear up what was a bit of a mess to say the least.

The next five minutes did not disappoint.

It was a revelation.

Sam Beckett, for all his IQ, doctorates and down-to-earth common sense, didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

This turned him upside-down.

This turned the world inside and out.

This answered so many questions and created a million more.

This terrified every inch of him, right down to his last stem cell.

This could not be denied, ignored or otherwise swept aside.

This was real.

And Al still wasn't here.

"Oh boy..."

* * *

Next chapter: Back in the waiting room


	7. Jack's Back

Disclaimer: I still don't own Stargate or Quantum Leap, so if anyone wants to sue me they'll lose cos I in't got nuffin!!

The treat of the day for all you wonderful reviewers is: Jaffa Cakes. On second thoughts... no, here have some Maltesers. The Jaffa cakes are mine, all mine I tell you!!! Mwahahahahaa 'cough' um... :)

**NB. This chapter has been revised.**

Jumper Prime: I bow to your infinite knowledge! I admit that it's been a long time since I saw either the LHO episode or the one with the murderer (which is apparently called "Killin' Time") and freely confess that I both muddled them up and was so certain that I didn't check. Bad Soph! Thank you :)

* * *

"Good morning, Admiral!"

Al raised an eyebrow, but responded in kind all the same. "Good morning, Colonel. You're sounding very cheery today."

"I caught up on the Simpsons last night, sir – haven't had a chance to watch them in months."

Jack had been offered three-cheese ravioli for dinner the night before – weird for prison food, but at least it went halfway to proving he was still on Earth. The other half of the proof had come when he'd asked the air where the john was, thinking that no alien species would understand that, and a shower/toilet room had been revealed. Finally he'd wished out loud for the Simpsons, which he had greatly enjoyed before the lights went down and he fell asleep, pondering who the hell had captured him and why.

Now, having showered and dressed in a white t-shirt and baggy pants provided by a sexy sounding woman named Ziggy – not that he'd seen her, but he figured he might be able to talk her into freeing him if they ever crossed paths – Jack was sitting cross-legged on the bed, trying to figure out what his next move should be. Al beat him to it.

"What's the last date and time you remember, Colonel?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question, with a simple answer don't you think?" The funny little man replied brightly.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I'm being held in a place without windows. I don't know how I got here, how long I've been here or where I am, and you're asking me what day it is?"

"Yes."

"Well I'm afraid that I don't feel like answering your question at this moment in time, _Admiral_."

Every ounce of sarcasm that he could muster went into that response, hoping to get a bite from the other man. Someone who was angry was usually someone who would make a mistake, and since he figured that Al wouldn't have come in at all if he'd hung around the door with a makeshift weapon, baiting the guy was his best shot for freedom.

Al didn't bite. Instead...

"Ziggy, could we have some coffee in here please?"

There was no response, but Al didn't seem too fazed. "She doesn't like me too much this morning – doesn't think I got enough beauty sleep. Don't worry though, the coffee will come along shortly. Have you had breakfast?"

Jack suddenly snapped back into military mode, his lazy morning session well and truly over. This man named Al, Admiral or not, was his only real link to the outside world at this point – though he was at least wearing something a bit more like a Navy summer uniform today.

"What am I doing here, sir? Where are we?"

He tried to make the words sound sincere, knowing that Al probably saw right through it.

"You're at a classified US Government facility in New Mexico, Colonel, as I indicated yesterday."

"With all due respect sir, you didn't answer the question and my clearance is pretty high."

Al sighed. "To be honest, your clearance is unlikely to make a difference because our visitors have a tendency to forget everything once they go home. Your honesty will. You are here because of a... mistake... that was made by my colleague a few years ago, Sam Beckett who I spoke about yesterday. He was a brilliant physicist who developed a way to see into the past via what he called a quantum accelerator, but when he tried it we... well, we lost him."

Jack didn't quite know what to make of this, though he was sure that Carter would have a better idea. He didn't like the idea of losing a man, but he had to give the guy credit for originality with this 'seeing the past' baloney.

"What do you mean – you lost him?"

Just then the coffee arrived via a kind of food slot, which Jack could see was a welcome relief to the Admiral – so much so that for the first time in his life, a superior officer served Jack coffee. Then again if this Sam guy was his best friend, as he'd said before, Jack could relate to that. If, on the other hand, he was playing for sympathy... Well either way, he hadn't decided what to do yet since he didn't know what the guy wanted from him – if anything. He obviously wanted some sort of cooperation, but what?

"This is very hard to explain, but I'll try. Sam had to step into the accelerator for it to work, and the idea was that it would allow him to switch bodies with someone for a short period of time."

"Uh-huh?" Jack wasn't impressed. "Sort of like 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'?"

"Exactly," Al did a double take. "Well no, not really. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry, sir," Jack smiled sarcastically. "And where do I come in?"

Al cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee. "The guy who Sam swapped with arrived here, in what we call the Waiting Room –"

"Excuse me?" Jack was incredulous. Stargates and Goa'uld were one thing – body snatching was quite another. It was almost... snake-like. "Are you telling me that some guy has bounced on in and stolen my body? What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

Al sat there, silently. Jack suddenly decided not to push his luck with an unknown but potentially senior officer though, since his record was shaky enough already when it came to dealing with authority. The guy may be trying to wind him up, but he wasn't going to get satisfaction – not yet anyhow.

"I apologise, please go on. Sir."

The other man crossed the room and stood closer to the bed, removing coffee tray from the small table.

"Apology accepted. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Jack shook his head impatiently.

"Look, as I was saying..." Al was taking his time. "What we found was that Sam had done what he set out to do, but with side effects that no one had predicted. This other guy, a test pilot from the 1950s, was here and Sam was way back there. I know it sounds crazy but it's true. And the trouble was that the guy in the Waiting Room looked just like Sam, so I thought he was kidding around for while. It took the guy hours to convince me that he wasn't Sam, and now it takes me hours to convince people like you that _I'm_ not crazy – ha!"

'Not quite as crazy as travelling to all sorts of wacky planets and killing parasitic aliens,' Jack said to himself, thinking that there was no harm in listening. If the guy was nuts or just plan lying, he could always either knock him out or take him hostage.

Al seemed to realise that Jack wasn't going to say a word, and carried on.

"We could deal with that, up until the point that we realised we couldn't bring Sam back using the accelerator. Up until that point, the whole thing was assumed to be completely targetable and reversible you see. It was designed as an observation mechanism, not – as you called it – a body-snatching machine."

"Right – but if the US Government funded this project," Jack waited for Al to nod before continuing. "Surely they didn't just want to observe – if they could, let's say, substitute one person for another couldn't they change history? Sounds wacko, but then the Manhattan Project scientists thought they'd be saving the world."

Al looked grim. "Yeh, well obviously you're more cynical than I am – I didn't see that one until they came out and said it. By then though, we'd lost Sam yet again. He'd moved on – 'Leaped' as we call it – and there was someone else in the Waiting Room, someone from a completely different year. It's been going on for a while now. Every time he does it we hope he'll Leap himself right back here, but it hasn't happened yet."

Jack laughed out loud now. This was better than the Simpsons.

"Ok, so now you are saying that this Sam guy – is in my body. A 'brilliant physicist', no less. You have got to be kidding! How does he move about?"

The man on the table didn't look so happy. "I'm glad that you find this funny Colonel, because I sure don't. I can see it your way though, because it isn't the world's most logical story."

"Y'think?" Jack smirked. "I'd have less trouble believing you if you'd met some little grey men!"

Strangely, the two men shared a smile at this point. Jack couldn't help it – the guy seemed to be on his wavelength – but he was still captive, and so he wasn't about to sit down and make friends with a loon who claimed to be a Navy Admiral. Shame he didn't bite on the opportunity to chat about the Asgard though.

"Come on then, out with the rest of the story. Do we get to save the world at the end of this one too?" His words were designed to show his impatience.

"Yes and no. We have no idea why, but every time Sam Leaps he has to do something different to the original history, to put something right if you get my meaning. It can be anything from saving someone's life to stopping them from committing a crime – we never really know until the person turns up in the waiting room, and even then we have to pinpoint when and where Sam, plus the Leapee's circumstances, before we can help him out. When he's fixed things, he moves on."

Al fell silent, and Jack raised an eyebrow.

"You don't believe me, do you?" The Admiral asked.

"No, I don't sir. Permission to speak freely?"

Al nodded, a resigned look on his face.

"With all due respect, who do you think you're trying to kid? Changing the past to make it better? Helping out the little people through some cosmic time machine?"

"I know, it sounds like a pile of bull, but we have managed a few major things like saving Jackie Kennedy's life."

Jack was incredulous. "Oh yeh, and how was that?"

"Sam Leaped into Lee Harvey Oswald, that's how," Al shrugged. "It was freaky having him in here, and we obviously didn't manage to save JFK, but it worked because in the original history they both died."

"Right..."

"Look I can't make you believe me, and you're right in one way – it does tend to be helping the little people. To be honest the Appropriations Committee would love to shut us down just because of that. They tried to once, saying that a few run-ins with people like Elvis and Dr Heimlich didn't make a blind bit of different, but that was something else that Sam managed to change."

Al chuckled as he remembered the sudden change in the politicians as he sat before them in a hearing. One minute they had condemned Project Quantum Leap, the next they'd awarded more funding – it had been a classic!

"Well that's something I can sympathise with, Admiral, I'm not a fan of politicians either." Jack replied, trying to figure out whether this guy believed in what he was saying. "So, er, how do you get hold of your man? Once you've found him, so to speak."

"Via the Imaging Chamber," the other man replied. "It's a huge cavern below the Project. I walk in with my handset and Ziggy beams a neurological hologram back to Sam's brain out there in the past – "

Jack started laughing out loud, wiping tears from his eyes.

"No look Colonel, I don't even pretend to understand it myself. He sees and hears me, I see and hear what's going on around him – except I can't touch anything and people have a tendency to walk through me. It's a weird feeling, let me tell you, gives me the heebie-jeebies. Colonel?"

"Jeez you guys have come up with a cracker here, haven't you?" Jack couldn't help himself now. "You've got all the answers!"

"Yeh, well, I'm glad you think so," Al shot back, finally showing his own teeth. "If I had all the answers I'd be chatting to Sam, not a moron like you."

"Touché, Admiral," was Jack's response, still laughing. "But I'm just trying to imagine this Sam guy passing himself off as me. I mean, surely people can tell the difference? And my people? Well I have a couple of bona fide geniuses on my team, plus it's a very secure installation – your friend would find himself in the lock-up pretty darn quick. So why don't you just come clean, cut the crap and tell me what's _really_ going on?"

"Colonel, I have told you the truth – and the sooner you believe it the sooner you'll be out of here," Al stated bluntly. "If we don't know where or when Sam is, we can't guide him out of there and you can't go home. Now we've tried to analyse what we know of your background, but the details are pretty sketchy since you're a covert kinda guy – am I right?"

"If you say so, sparky."

"Ha ha." Al didn't sound like he was amused. "Our first thought was – and I hope you'll forgive me for bringing this up but circumstances demand it – the death of your son."

Jack's face became granite. How dare this funny little man in a shitty suit mention Charlie? He flexed his hands, testing each muscle in case he felt the urge to grab this idiot by the throat.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but our scan couldn't place Sam anywhere near your family home for six months either side of that tragic event. It obviously isn't his mission to change that, at least not right now."

Hmm, so they were on a real first name basis now, eh? Hell of a time to choose.

"Leave the dead alone, Al. I'm warning you, here and now."

Al nodded, his face sombre now.

"Colonel, I've been as honest as I can with you. I've told you as much about Project Quantum Leap as I can to try to convince you – and all I need in return is your last known whereabouts and the date. That's all, ok? I'm not going to torture you, and I'm not even going to drug you – I can't, and even if some bigwig had given permission for me to do so, I wouldn't. Please, just help me out here?"

Jack was still pissed, in fact even more so than he had been when he'd woken up.

"Al, I don't know what you're playing at but I do know this. Even if I gave you those answers, you wouldn't be able to do much with them. As you already mentioned so casually, I'm a covert kinda guy. I work in secret places. If this is a secret place, mine is probably more secret. And if he's there pretending to be me your friend Sam will be found out, with or without your precious help."

"You could be right, Colonel, you could be right – but he has gotten out of some tricky spots before now, and I am _not_ going to give up on him just yet." Now it was Al's turn to be vehement. "Ziggy will probably find him, eventually – she's a computer, did you realise that? – but your cooperation would speed things up."

A snort was all the response that Al received.

"Fine. Ziggy?"

"Yes, Admiral." That sexy voice was back.

"Could you please tell the Colonel a little about yourself?"

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this," Jack muttered.

"Certainly, Admiral. Colonel O'Neill, I am a parallel hybrid computer designed by Dr Samuel Beckett in early to mid-1990s. My purpose is to monitor and evaluate the performance of Project Quantum Leap, and to record all data from the original history and subsequent changes as a result of Dr Beckett's activities. I also research probable reasons for Dr Beckett's Leaps and assess possible means for him to complete his mission."

"So you're really all that are you?" Jack didn't bat an eyelid. "And what's your assessment of this so-called Leap?"

"To save the life of one Colonel Jonathon O'Neill, reported dead in this morning's memo from the Cheyenne Mountain Complex to the Oval Office."

"WHAT?!"

The yell came from Al, watched by a cynical Jack who muttered only, "Oh please..."

"Who is the President of the United States, Jack?"

"Excuse me?" Al seemed pretty jumpy now, and if Jack weren't so certain that he was being stitched up he'd have been convinced by that act alone.

"Just answer the damn question. Who is the President?"

"Bill Clinton, though he might not be for much longer from what I hear."

"Ziggy." Al's words were a command now, not a question.

"Correlation found. Starr Report published September 11th 1998, recommending impeachment of President Clinton. Focussing search on Cheyenne Mountain Complex, dates 11th to today, 25th September 2004. Security database confirms Colonel Jonathan O'Neill employed under General George Hammond, project unknown. Access denied. Access denied. Access denied."

"$%&£!" Al swore. "Keep at it Ziggy, I'll come give you a hand in a moment, ok?"

Jack looked on with an amused expression on his face. He really didn't know what to make of this any more, what with all these dates being bandied about and presumably an attempt to tell him that he was due to die on a few days. For all he knew it was the 25th by now, but his brain was telling him it must be the 20th – not much difference either way, and besides it would take a hell of a lot for anyone to hack into the SGC computers.

Then there was this cockamamie story that only made sense if you were a little cuckoo. Al was a pretty good actor too – Jack was willing to concede that – but he wasn't about to say a damn thing. Shame they'd gotten him with the President question, but really what had it gained them? And anyone with access to the combined Forces database could locate him at Cheyenne Mountain right now. It was this whole past/future bit he didn't get. Was he supposed to believe that he was almost a week ahead of himself? For crying out loud...

"Hey Al."

"Yes, Jack."

"How did you say this Sam guy can pass himself off as me when he presumably doesn't even look like me again? I don't think I have any twin brothers out there..."

Al shook his head. "You didn't listen, did you? Sam looks and sounds exactly like whoever he's Leaped into, just like you look and sound exactly like him right now."

"Yeh right," Jack smirked. "So how come I don't feel any different?"

"He just looks like you, I didn't say he had your body. Your body is right here, I just can't see it because you're wearing his physical aura. And yes I know that sounds just as kooky as the rest of the story. Just a second –"he fished something from his back pocket. "Would you mind taking a look in this?"

It was a small mirror like one you'd find in a woman's purse, a cheap plastic number but a mirror all the same. Suppressing a tremor of nervousness, Jack snapped it open and took a good look.

"Nice hair-do," he said, fingering the reflection's white forelock, then testing the mirror with flashes of two, five, then three fingers. Each time the reflection matched his actions exactly – except they weren't his.

Jack's next move was decided a split second before it came. He smashed the mirror to the floor, grabbed a shard with his bare hands and then grabbed the Admiral, trapping the other man's arms behind his back with one hand and just grazing his jugular with the glass shard with the other.

"No more games, Admiral. Get me out of here."

"Project is now in lock-down."

The sexy voice wasn't quite the same any more, and Jack almost believed the computer story for a moment.

"What's happening, Al?" He pressed the shard in closer to emphasise the question.

"We once had a murderer who escaped while he was here Jack, so we programmed in some extra security measures. Ziggy's an intelligent computer with full control over the facility, and under these circumstances I can't override her. Everyone in here, including me and you, is trapped until you calm down and drop your weapon."

"Yeh, right," said Jack wryly. "Well at least you're showing your true colours now."

* * *

Next chapter: The Briefing Room.


	8. The Briefing Room

Disclaimer: I own neither Stargate nor Quantum Leap. The only thing of any value that I do own is an outrageously turquoise Kia Pride, and even that is shared with my hubby (who is the registered owner, so technically I really do have nothing!).

Reviewers' treat of the day: chocolate digestive biscuits and a nice mug of hot tea for dunking :)

NB. The two Sams are very confusing, but I'm trying to stick to one person's POV per chapter. As such this chapter's Sam = Sam Carter.

PS. To my fellow Poms: rejoice!! For it will soon be the long weekend, and Michael Fish (infallible weatherman™) has declared that a warm High will be swirling above the British Isles in honour of the Summer Bank Holiday. The endless rain will clear! May your barbeques burn brightly, and let us all hail the insane bravery of those who dare venture into our coastal waters for a spot of swimming!! (what do you mean he got it horrendously wrong once? no...)

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It didn't make any difference what Daniel said, Sam was worried about Colonel O'Neill. About Jack.

She found it hard to think of her superior officer as anything other than 'Colonel O'Neill', but she did – more and more frequently. Maybe it was because SG1 were such a close-knit team, depending on each other in what were very literally 'alien' environments. It had only been a couple of years, but she had through more with Daniel, Teal'c and... Jack... than she had with any other group other than her squadron during the 1992 Gulf War. She'd been flying F16s back then though, and while they were important missions in enemy airspace it had never held her heart and mind like Stargate Command did – only her duty. Even so, she wanted to keep a line between friendship and rank. The two didn't mix very well in the wrong situation.

Daniel was different, and so was Teal'c. They both had an innate sense of duty and honour, but neither was in military service. With service came rank, and it was a part of her duty to uphold the chain of command. Even Daniel was shaping up these days though – the Goa'uld had helped him over his allergy to guns anyway. Teal'c's military experience went far beyond that of anyone on the base, but as an alien he could barely leave Cheyenne Mountain let alone join up.

The thought of Teal'c in a cadet's uniform made her chuckle, causing her... passenger?... to turn around.

"Something funny, Carter?"

"Sorry sir," she replied to her CO with a straight-ish face. "For a moment I imagined the thought of Teal'c at the Academy."

Daniel, walking beside them, snorted. "Riiiiight. Though I suppose he would tighten things up in there, even as a cadet. Those drill sergeants wouldn't stand a chance!"

There it was again. Jack O'Neill, sat in a wheelchair, not laughing at a joke that he'd normally find hilarious. Maybe Daniel just didn't notice little things like that, but Sam knew that the Colonel had been unusually quiet since their return from P3X-970 and his unlucky trip down the ramp. Perhaps he'd had a sudden realisation of his mortality, or maybe it was the pain from his ankle. He had looked as white as a sheet when they'd all been roused from the lab by General Hammond just a few minutes ago, saying that he'd tried standing on it again. Daniel had acted like a mother hen, threatening to tell Janet, but Sam had stood back and observed. Something had definitely changed.

She didn't have much time to dwell on this though, since they were coming up to the entrance to the SGC's briefing room. Daniel, thoughtful as ever, jumped ahead and opened the door wide so that the others could fit through easily, then removed the chair at the Colonel's normal position so that he could take the appropriate place. General Hammond wasn't far behind them.

"Good morning people."

"Good morning sir," the trio responded.

"Down to business, I'm afraid," as ever, General Hammond's grandfatherly demeanour was quickly replaced by that of the business-like mentality he was promoted for. "As you know, SG1 will be stood down for the next 5 days at least. This is partly owing to the absence of Teal'c and now to Colonel O'Neill's injury – how are you doing, Colonel?"

"Fine sir, just dandy, thank you for asking."

"Good, well don't assume that this downtime is a holiday because we have a lot of work to do. Now our first item of business this morning is to continue and conclude yesterday afternoon's debrief. Colonel O'Neill, Captain Carter gave a very succinct report, particularly regarding the discovery of the unknown device and subsequent attack by Hemuset's Jaffa – do you have anything to add?"

The Colonel had been focussing directly on General Hammond, but the question seemed to come as a surprise, Sam noted. His thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

"Er, no General," the leader of SG1 began, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I don't have any particular details for your attention, however here is a written report and I know that Captain Carter and Daniel have been studying the device further."

"Excellent," General Hammond acknowledged. "Any progress you two?"

Sam looked at Daniel, who returned her look with a near-shrug.

'I guess this one's up to me then!' she decided, both thanking and despising her fate for bringing her here. On the one hand the Stargate project allowed her genius to run free, working on theories and technology that most scientists would sell their souls to lay their hands on, but on the other there was almost always the extremely frustrating period of stagnation before discovery. Daniel had said that archaeology could be much the same, digging the same site for years before finding something tangible. It was the scientists' curse.

Then again, Sam had been a part of the SGC before it had existed. As a brilliant cadet back in 1982 she'd been assigned to the team whose brief was to build (or rather, jury-rig) a dialling system for the Stargate. At first it had a been a resume-filler – Sam had been set on a career as an astronaut up until the Challenger disaster in 1986 – but even when the project was cancelled she'd kept working on the theories in her spare time. When Dr Catherine Langford had managed to convince the new Administration to revive the Stargate program in 1994 she'd pulled Sam back onto the research team, and apart from a 1-year spell in the Pentagon she'd been there ever since – and intended to stay.

'...even if it is frustrating now and then,' she concluded, thanking her blessings.

"Sir, I'm afraid that our only progress has been to discover some microscopic writing on the base. Daniel is currently working on translating those markings, which are in a Goa'uld dialect and we're hoping that it will give us a clue as to the artefact's purpose."

Sam stopped for a drink of water, took a deep breath and chose her next words carefully.

"General, I have tried every trick that has helped us... unlock... the artefacts that we've brought back so far, but none have worked. It has no apparent buttons, levers or switches – not even handholds. It has withstood every kind of radiation I'm able to throw at it, and doesn't give off any at all. It's not like anything we've studied before, even though it is made from naquadah, but more importantly it doesn't seem to be a weapon."

Even Jack looked interested now, which made a nice change since he usually switched off during this bit.

"All right Captain Carter," the General nodded. "Keep working on it. I want another report at 1700 hours – and incidentally while I am keen to know what that artefact is, I would also prefer it if you went home before midnight tonight."

Damn that man, he really did know everything that went on at the SGC.

After receiving Sam's nod of assent, General Hammond looked askance at Daniel.

"And what do you make of all this, Dr Jackson?"

Daniel looked up sheepishly. He had several papers in front of him, all relating to either the artefact or the markings upon it.

"Sir, I wish I could say that this makes sense but it doesn't. It's not a very long piece of text and it is in a dialect that I should be able to translate, but somehow I don't think I have it right just yet. It's a bit like we used to think that the Stargate was called the "Doorway to Heaven" – the words are essentially correct, but the direct translation doesn't convey what it's intended to."

Sam smiled softly. Daniel was far too modest to point out that he was the one who'd pointed out the mistake within hours of joining the project, as well as cracking the mystery of the 39 glyphs that represented star systems. She hadn't spotted it despite 15 years working on this project, on and off, and she was an astrophysicist!

"What does it say, literally?"

"Literally? 'Bear this token behind the Stargate to ensure quick return and continued future'. It sounds like something from a fortune cookie, so I'm going to keep working on it."

"And I'm assuming that neither of you have tried carrying it behind the Stargate, am I correct?" Sam and Daniel nodded. "Good, the last thing I need right now is for an experiment to potentially disable our systems. I want all possible effects to be evaluated prior to any such action. Do we know anything about Hemuset?" The General probed further.

Daniel shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Hemuset, or Hemsut, is remembered as a minor deity and it doesn't look like she's anywhere close to being a System Lord even now. She seems to use P3X-970 as a base, though the MAPL didn't register any sign of a Ha'tak in orbit – she's effectively grounded. Also, Hemuset's Jaffa wear a brand of crossed arrows, which is recorded as being her sigil in the past – so at least we remembered one thing right – and her mythological responsibilities centred on fate, protection and the _ka_ or soul. I might be able to get some more information from Teal'c when he returns."

General Hammond nodded, and Sam shot a quick look at the Colonel. He looked somewhat confused, and though that wasn't exactly a rarity during such meetings he didn't normally have the grace to look guilty when he caught her noticing. Normally it was a sarcastically raised eyebrow, as if to say "can I help you?"

"On that matter," Sam said, to cover up her momentary confusion. "Have we heard when Teal'c is due back yet?"

"Yes, Captain we have," the General replied with a knowing smile. "The fourth member of SG1 will be returning from Chulak this afternoon. I know you've all missed him. Both he and Colonel O'Neill are then due at the Alpha site tomorrow morning to help train some new recruits."

"Sir?!" Jack seemed surprised... as was Sam, suddenly finding herself calling him 'Jack' again.

The commander of the SGC leaned forward. "Colonel, I know that your current position isn't exactly ideal, however with the majority of SGs 6 and 8 in the infirmary I cannot allow us to get behind on our training schedule. The joint forces give us their best, but we have to bring them up to speed as quickly as possible if we're to increase the effectiveness of the Stargate Command in this galaxy. Some hard words and direct answers could help knock them into shape."

Sam could have sworn that Jack O'Neill looked not annoyed at the prospect of 'babysitting' as he usually termed it, but scared. Something was definitely up, and General Hammond obviously caught a whiff of it too.

"You're an experienced officer, even in a wheelchair, and you have more strategic knowledge of the Goa'uld than anyone else on this planet. Teal'c has his own special talents and understanding of the Goa'uld from both sides of the fence. Between the two of you I'm hoping that you can convince those youngsters that this is not a glorified game of Space Invaders. I don't want any more adolescent fools rushing on in and getting themselves slaughtered."

"Yessir!" Well at least he'd woken up a bit now.

"All right. You can pick up a copy of the updated curriculum from Major Stubbs later on, and feel free to talk around the subject so long as you cover every single point."

"Every single point sir, gotcha."

The General nodded wryly, and the Colonel looked down at his hands. Sam decided that she was going to have to stop picking at his every move, because at this rate if she ever said anything the whole SGC would think that Captain Carter was obsessed with Colonel O'Neill. That would do no good for her career, no way. Time to chill. No looking at Jack – no, Colonel O'Neill damn it!

"Finally, one last thing before you can all go on your way." General Hammond wasn't done yet. "Dr Jackson, have you come up with anything on the plaque from P2Q-198 yet?"

"No sir, I'm afraid not. I'm sure that it is the same language as the mural on PX7-418, but other than seeing a correlation between Asgard and Oannes symbols I'm a little stuck." Daniel screwed his face up in concentration in that funny way he had, then continued. "Would you prefer me to focus on the translation from P3X-970 or this one sir?"

"Dr Jackson, since I don't think we'll be receiving a visit from the Ancients any time soon it should be safe to focus on this new project with Captain Carter," General Hammond turned back into a grandfather for a moment. "Ok people, you are dismissed. Go have some breakfast."

Just then, Colonel O'Neill's belly growled. Sam and Daniel looked at each other, eyes twinkling, and even General Hammond smiled a little.

"It's good to see that your injury hasn't dampened all your spirits, Colonel. Good day."

As one, Sam and Daniel rose. Colonel O'Neill – nice one Carter, you remembered – of course, could not. The General took his leave, and Daniel breathed a sigh of nervousness.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm shattered. There's no way I can do a full day's work on 2 hours' sleep today – not even if you feed me power bars from dawn to dusk!" The archaeologist ran his fingers through his hair in embarrassment. "I'm going to play catch up for a few hours ok? Jack – would you mind waking me up around 11?"

"Sure thing, Daniel – 11 o'clock. Go get some sleep, you deserve it."

Sam nodded and waved. "Get along, Daniel. And no more of that sludge you call coffee till midday, all right?"

Daniel grinned and opened the door for the pair of them, Sam pushing the Colonel's wheelchair again. "Yeh, yeh. See you both later."

The group split, one heading to his office and the remaining two turning towards the canteen. With any luck there'd be some food left, though at 0800 that was a slim chance. It would probably be toast and orange juice.

Trundling along, Sam noticed that the Colonel was paying an unusual level of attention to his surroundings – though he did return a hello to anyone who greeted him, including a young Airman who looked amazed that a Colonel would pay him any notice at all.

"What's the view like down there, Colonel?" she asked. An innocent enough question.

"Surprisingly different," came the reply. "It's strange what you notice when your eyes are at waist-level!" A pause. "I think that came out a bit wrong, don't you Carter?"

Trying hard to keep a giggle out of her voice, she affirmed the comment before turning left into the canteen – unusually empty now that the kitchens had closed.

"Damn, and there I was hoping for some bacon and eggs."

That comment was pure Jack O'Neill, and for a moment Sam felt heartened – and a little wary of herself. She hadn't realised that his sarcastic personality was such a cornerstone in her life these days.

Telling herself that it was merely respect for a senior officer, not emotional attachment, she pointed the wheelchair in the direction of the cereal barrels. "They still have Fruit Loops sir, all is not yet lost."

"That's affirmative Captain, and an excellent choice." Straining his head around to see her, the Colonel winked. "Full speed ahead!"

Shaking her head in amusement, Sam decided to just drop the nit picking. The man had a sprained ankle and was being pushed around in a wheelchair because he couldn't even handle crutches. Was it any wonder that he was out of sorts? And even if he had tripped up, everyone was allowed a mistake now and then.

It was time to eat breakfast, get back to the lab and continue working on Hemuset's artefact, and that was all there was to it.

Definitely.

* * *

Next chapter: The Imaging Chamber (!!!)


	9. The Imaging Chamber

Disclaimer: Stargate:SG1 and Quantum Leap belong to various established creators, writers and companies, none of whom bear any resemblance to me.

Reviewers: you are all lovely wonderful people! The treat of the day is Timtams (Aussie version of Penguins), which I was ecstatic to discover in Tesco the other day :)

PS. I saw some elderly QL over the weekend (SciFi channel gooood) including "The Curse of Ptah-Hotep". This was when Sam Leapt into an archaeologist in Egypt, mentioned in a previous chapter... but based on the script it was 1999 for Al, not 1998. Doh! Apologies, but I'll be sticking with my current dates – they aren't part of the real plot but it all worked out so nicely with the Starr Report etc. Plus I'm lazy.

PPS. For the purposes of this fic, Gooshie's full name is Dr Guiseppe Fisichella. A double-coated Timtam to anyone who guesses the source of the surname!

PPPS. Based on Sam's Leaps into a couple of TV shows I figured that cameras pick up the 'physical aura' whajimmy, rather than his real body – hence Jack still looks like Sam via CCTV.

**

* * *

**

**Project Quantum Leap – 25th September 1998**

"What do you suggest, Ziggy?"

Gooshie was in a fix, and he hated it. Not that he didn't love working without Al's constant harassment, but it was different when the reason that Al wasn't harassing him was because some crazy Air Force Colonel was holding broken glass to his throat. That, coupled with the fact the aforementioned Colonel was the hardest Leapee to track down since... well, the first Leapee ever because they hadn't know which way to turn back then... was not helping his headache. Being the home of NORAD he'd expected Cheyenne Mountain to be a tough nut to crack, but whatever it was that O'Neill worked on in there it had as high a secrecy rating as Project Quantum Leap – if not higher.

'So much for Ziggy's speculation that he'd taken a step down since the death of his son,' he thought wryly.

Tina was a star, as usual, but Gooshie could tell that she was worried about Al too. The project's Design Engineer and the Admiral had been together for a few years now, their odd relationship continuing despite a couple of indiscretions by both parties – Gooshie himself having been Tina's. He suppressed a twinge of jealousy and turned back to his console. She'd made it very clear to him that their fling had been just that and nothing more, but he couldn't help it if she still lived in his daydreams... despite her unkind parting gift of mouthwash.

"Ziggy?"

It wasn't like the computer to hesitate with an answer, so her Head Programmer was relieved when she finally answered. Anything to take his mind off Al and the maniac in the Waiting Room.

"Doctor, based on the limited information available I do not think that Admiral Calavicci is in danger of death or serious injury at this time, however every scenario suggests that the risk involved increases proportionally with time. Should Colonel O'Neill believe himself to be in increased danger – whether through lack of information to himself, or through the Admiral's own actions – this risk could increase unpredictably."

Gooshie and Tina looked at each other in dismay. There wasn't anything else that they could tell Colonel O'Neill, since Al had already covered most of the bases and the guy hadn't believed him. Al himself was another matter. He was good with people, but they'd both heard that conversation in the Waiting Room – the pair of them were either going to be best friends or worst enemies by the time this was finished. Gooshie decided that he was going to have to talk to this guy, though the idea terrified him.

"Colonel O'Neill?" Gooshie looked toward the screen showing the Waiting Room and raised his voice, knowing that Ziggy would patch him through.

"Yes? Who is this?"

The disembodied voice was unmistakably that of the Project's creator, though all present knew that this definitely was not Sam Beckett. The tone was far too steely for that, and threatening. Sam could be determined and intractable, but never like this.

"My name is Dr Guiseppe Fisichella, Colonel, though everyone calls me Gooshie. I'm the Head Programmer here at Project Quantum Leap." Gooshie swallowed hard. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that we will lift the lock-down as soon as possible, but that we have a long way to go first."

There was silence, and the team could see Colonel O'Neill – looking every inch like Dr Beckett, right down to his white forelock – thinking hard but not hurting Al to any great degree. Ziggy's lights and nodules flickered non-stop, monitors flicking through data faster than Gooshie could read it, but he was certain that a good portion of her activity was focussed on the current exchange nonetheless.

"Look guys," the visitor responded, finally. "I don't know what drugs you're taking over there but I'm not buying this story one bit. Your so-called Admiral here is going to stay with me until I am back with my team, is that understood? Let me out of here and everything will be fine."

Gooshie looked towards Tina for support and was grateful for her encouraging smile. He was a programmer, not a negotiator, and since his experience with the military was pretty much limited to non-conformist Al he was praying that he would read this situation well enough to save the Project Director from any serious harm.

"Yes sir, I understand you completely but I am afraid that I cannot unlock the door – we're trapped in here just the same as you are. I know that you don't believe us, but I just wanted you to know that we're doing all we can from our side. Ziggy won't release the locks on anything until she believes that Al is safe you see."

Colonel O'Neill snorted. "Whatever you say, 'Gooshie'."

The nickname's owner shrugged – he'd been called that since birth because his older sister couldn't pronounce 'Giuseppe'. He caught Tina's eye and she mouthed, "Al?"

Nodding, Gooshie figured it couldn't do any harm. "Colonel, one last thing – could we have a word from Admiral Calavicci?"

"If that's your way of suggesting that this comedian might outrank me, Dr Fisichella, you've failed. What I have here is a hostage and hostage he will stay. You can have a quick word with him though, and I mean quick. You're on."

On the monitor they could see Colonel O'Neill loosen his grip on Al, who automatically reached for his throat and rubbed what must now be a tender spot, though to their relief he wasn't bleeding.

"Gooshie, Tina, I'm okay. Ziggy, keep on working those scenarios –"

Al's voice was cut short and the team saw the glass being brought up against his neck again. Tina's sharp intake of breath echoed Gooshie's own jab of fear – he might be jealous of the man, but he was still a friend as well as his boss.

"No instructions! You've said more than enough!"

The growl in Sam's voice was eerie, as was the predatory way in which the man on the screen looked around the Waiting Room, presumably searching for CCTV. Gooshie had thought it strange that Al hadn't directly at them when talking, and now he realised why.

"Ok guys," the Leapee continued. "We'll just sit down here on the bed for now and as an act of good faith, I'll keep this glass away from Al. I'm sure that will make you all happy. I'm not a patient man though, and I don't take kindly to this sort of treatment. If anyone even vaguely threatening comes through that door, I can guarantee you that Al will be dead before they can take aim. Is that understood?"

"Loud and clear, Colonel," Gooshie replied, trying not to splutter nervously. "And I promise that no one will be coming through to hurt you."

"Good. O'Neill out."

A panicked whimper escaped the Head Programmer's lips as the conversation was cut to an end.

"Tina, what are we going to do if we can't find Sam?" He asked, knowing that his eyes must really be bugging out by now.

"I don't know, Gooshie, I really don't know." Tina sounded like she was trying to maintain control too, and Gooshie was certain that the object of his affection was doing far better than he was. "Ziggy, how do you rate our chances right now?"

"If you are enquiring after the safety of Admiral Calavicci, my original probability grid remains," the computer's sultry voice replied. "The recent conversation cannot have lessened Colonel O'Neill's disbelief regarding Project Quantum Leap, however by allowing Admiral Calavicci a limited amount of freedom the Colonel is at least offering a compromise of sorts. We must endeavour to maintain this level of trust, small though it is, in order to safeguard the Admiral's well being."

"But you won't let him out now, even to save Al's life?" Tina asked, almost accusingly.

"Correct," Ziggy replied, bluntly. "To do so would endanger both yourself and Gooshie, as well as other project staff not privy to the current situation."

Gooshie found a chair and sat down, his head in his hands. His headache was getting worse, and this situation was too much! "Ok, so where are we regarding Sam? Any more clues on that little problem?"

"Yes," she replied, totally ignoring the hopeful cheers that suddenly exploded from her programmer and design engineer. "However I am still unsure of Dr Beckett's exact location."

"Come on then Ziggy," Gooshie bit his lip, wondering how accurate her calculations might be this time and wishing that she could understand why a human would not have waited until everyone was wallowing in despair before imparting that valuable snippet of information. Or perhaps her over-blown cybernetic ego simply wanted to remind him that he couldn't do without her.

"The principle function of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex is to serve as a base for highly classified research, much as this research facility does." Gooshie nodded impatiently. "Without permissions or passwords available from Admiral Calavicci I am unable to access the Cheyenne Mountain central database, and I am unwilling to attempt to 'hack' in due to the possible repercussions upon Project Quantum Leap. I also advise against a full capacity search for details regarding either Colonel O'Neill or his superior General George Hammond for similar reasons."

Much as Gooshie would have preferred her to cut straight to the chase and hack in, he could see her point. As Al had already mentioned to Colonel O'Neill, this Project was a pricey one with little measurable outcome – as least politically speaking – so a step like breaking into NORAD would wipe something like Watergate off the map. They'd be lucky if they ended their days on a speck of rock off the coast of Canada, and Ziggy would probably be disassembled and sent to various Ivy League colleges for study.

"As such I have been searching for alternative sources of information and have found a potential anomaly in the requisition lists of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Colonel O'Neill's attitudes and reactions suggest that despite his assignment to a research facility he maintains an unusual level of fitness and combat-readiness for a desk officer. This correlates most strongly with two possibilities: either Colonel O'Neill is suffering from a hostile flashback and is acting accordingly, or he is somehow part of an active duty roster based at Cheyenne Mountain. The requisition anomaly suggests the latter."

"Ziggy, what is it – please?" Tina was even edgier than Gooshie, it seemed.

"Level –28 appears to have an unusually well-stocked infirmary. Accessible base plans do show a field hospital level at Level –12 for use in case of nuclear attack, however its sole known use is as a medical station for use by the facility's staff. Requisition orders for Level –12 are consistent with supplies needed to cope with normal working injuries such as small cuts and back strain, as well as more specific emergencies such as radiation burns. There is also an obstetrics bay, presumably a linked to the complex's original design as a haven during nuclear war."

The computer paused for a moment, causing Gooshie to tap his fingers in frustration.

"The requisition orders for Level –28 are more consistent with combat injuries however, including surgical supplies and an expanded range of emergency room equipment. This suggests that Level –28 encounters injuries that are too severe to await evacuation to the surface. No plans are available to either confirm or deny the presence of an infirmary on Level –28, nor any other data regarding its function, however Level –28 also orders a significant amount of weaponry. As many projects within Cheyenne Mountain are defence or attack based I did not originally consider this to be a potential clue. Together with the medical supplies data I conclude that there is a large squad of personnel serving active duty on Level –28, and before you ask no I do not know how that could be, Dr Martinez-O'Farrell."

Ziggy's pointed barb was aimed at Tina, who shut her mouth rapidly and frowned. "So what do you suggest we do now?"

"If you're right, Ziggy," Gooshie interrupted with what he hoped was an air of authority – the last thing he wanted now was a cat fight, even if one of the participants was a bundle of flashy circuitry. "- how well insulated against transmissions do you think this Level –28 is likely to be?"

Tina looked his way anxiously, probably guessing his intent.

Ziggy, who always thought in mathematics, replied, "There is only a 54.7% probability that this scenario is correct, however it does remain the most probable at this time. Regarding the facility's insulation against brainwave transmissions I estimate that a signal could penetrate the lead shielding known to be present on upper levels, however there could be an large amount of distortion. I do not have sufficient data regarding the design of floors below Level -15 with which to run an accurate calculation, however the energy saved by sending the transmission a short time in the past and only one state away could be used to enhance and focus the signal more effectively."

"Ok," Gooshie mused out loud. "And how about an estimate on the right date to aim for? We know Sam's probably in the last 2½ weeks –"

"When was the last big order for the infirmary on Level –28, Ziggy?" Tina jumped in.

"Last known requisition order was on 21st September 1998," the computer responded promptly. "Also relevant: it is unknown whether this morning's memo referring to Colonel O'Neill's death is due to the original history or whether this history has already been changed due to Dr Beckett's presence, however the probability of such an event being an unconnected to a Leap is only 3.68%."

"Last question Ziggy – despite all the shielding, do you think you get a hologram through to Sam who isn't Al?"

Tina stared at Gooshie. "I knew it. Gooshie, we tried this before and it didn't work remember? Sam could barely see you at all. We need to concentrate on getting Al out of there."

"I know Tina, but we couldn't get hold of Al that day either could we, and Sam was left in the same situation as Jack O'Neill is now," Gooshie was torn. He could see that Tina was thinking more with her heart than her head, and it hurt him too. "We have to at least try it, don't you think? If we can find out what's going on there we could get Sam to Leap out more quickly, then Al will be free too!"

"Due to upgraded technology and data analysis following the previous attempt to transmit a hologram of Dr Fisichella to Dr Beckett, there is a 91.9% probability that would be successful at this time. This calculation is based on a normal, unshielded transmission however – the probability of a successful transmission to Level –28 of the Cheyenne Mountain complex is unknown. The presence of Dr Fisichella in the Imaging Chamber would also augment my search capabilities by 12.6% due to the pre-existing data to tune his neurons and mesons to those of Dr Beckett."

"Ha!" Gooshie laughed shortly. "Thank heavens for the 12.6% eh? Might even get us to Sam before Jack gets fed up with Al." Catching Tina's stricken look he caught himself and reached over to give her a hug. "I'm sorry Tina, I'm just terrified – but if we try this now it might help us get more information on wherever it is that Sam's at, ok?"

Tina nodded. "Just get on with it could you?" She reached into a drawer and pulled out the spare hand device – the original being trapped in the Waiting Room with Al.

Gooshie's response was to grin nervously. He had no qualms about helping out to find Sam, but Ziggy's description of Level –28 in Cheyenne Mountain sounded a little more hostile that anything he was used to. Weapons and combat injuries, hundreds of meters underground in Colorado? It almost sounded as crazy as a time-travel project in the New Mexico desert.

"Thanks Tina, really. Keep an eye on our guest in there ok, and if they want any food or more Simpsons re-runs just get it."

Their hands brushed as she handed him the device and he savoured the moment, then put on a brave face and turned to Ziggy's main console.

"You haven't said whether you agree that this is a good idea yet Ziggy – what do you think?"

The lights flashed some more before displaying a photograph of Colonel Jack O'Neill. "When a link is established, this is the man you will be looking for. I calculate a lengthy period of analysis will be required prior to the actual transmission of a neurological hologram however, and suggest that you take a bottle of water with you, Gooshie."

The Head Programmer was touched, despite the fact that it was a computer that was expressing some degree of concern for his welfare. This didn't help the fact that no matter how often he saw Al go in there and help Sam out, stepping into the Imaging Chamber was still a massive undertaking for him – he was a computer geek, not an explorer, and he'd already been playing negotiation games this morning. Then again, given the effectiveness of the rush job Ziggy had patched together the last time they'd been without Al (thanks to the escaped murderer who'd also brought about the current lock-down procedure), he didn't fancy their chances of patching Tina through to Sam in a hurry. At least with him they were already halfway there.

"Ok girls, wish me luck."

The chamber itself was huge, built within an enormous natural cavern. Its dimensions enabled the Observer – normally Al – to see as much as possible of Sam's environment when 'visiting', though anyone else in the chamber would see only the walls and floor. This was only the second time that Gooshie had been an Observer, and the first time that he'd been what he could only describe as a signal booster.

"Please let this work, please let this work..." he whispered, then heard Ziggy's voice around him.

"Dr Fisichella, I will begin searching now. The search will focus solely on Level –28 of the Cheyenne Mountain complex at this time, working backwards from yesterday's date. You may feel some mild discomfort."

"Just remember not to fry my brain cells, ok Ziggy? You still need them just as much as we need you!"

"Of course, Dr Fisichella."

Gooshie tried to decide whether the computer's tone of voice was contemptuous or not, but was suddenly distracted by a faint buzzing sensation between his ears. Was this Ziggy's doing? Or had his headache just moved up a gear? If so it wasn't that painful, but the thought of Ziggy generating something by way of his neurons was freaky. Well ok, she did with Al all the time – but that was different, he signed up to be an Observer, and they hardly ever had to search for Sam like this...

On and on, Gooshie's thoughts flowed randomly from one topic to the next. He was hardly aware of the Imaging Chamber any more, just daydreaming in spirals worthy of a fractal. Some of it was even in programming code, writing a new sub-routine for Ziggy to enhance her empathy, but Ziggy herself had no misgivings when interrupting this pleasant state of affairs to report her findings and focus her programmer's mind on the next part of the job – literally.

"Dr Fisichella," she began, causing Gooshie's head to jerk as if waking up from a catnap. "I have located what appears to be Dr Beckett on Level –28 of Cheyenne Mountain. His presence appears to be limited from the evening of Saturday September 19th to Thursday September 24th. Interference is high, as suspected, however a focussed signal has a 79.4% probability of reaching him as a visual hologram – audio will have to be determined during transmission."

"Good work, Ziggy!" This was Tina's voice, patched through from the Control Room.

"Thank you, Doctor." Ziggy's tone of voice suddenly made Gooshie realise that an empathy sub-routine might only make her more sarcastic. "There is also a large gap between the morning of Monday 21st and the afternoon of Tuesday 22nd when he is not detectable at all, however I cannot locate him within 100km of the complex's surface entrance during this time. Calculations suggest that Dr Beckett would most likely be found elsewhere within Cheyenne Mountain during this time."

"Ok Ziggy," Gooshie replied, rubbing the back of his head and still certain that had been going on in there that had nothing to do with his headache. "Just beam me in whenever you can and tweak as much as you need to."

"Beginning transmission now."

Gooshie's first experience of the Imaging Chamber in action had been even more rushed and panicky than this one – although at least that time they'd already known when and where Sam was. This was completely different: a dizzying blur that seem to crackle around him like a blizzard, or perhaps a badly tuned television set. Sounds were garbled, and he could almost imagine Ziggy twiddling the knobs on a ham radio set trying to get a lock.

"Ungh..."

The moan of 'see'-sickness escaped him and he decided to look down towards his feet in an attempt to avoid throwing up, holding on to the hand device as if it was a brightly coloured yet particularly insecure lifeline.

Just as he began to wonder what use all of Ziggy's circuitry was, he heard a word spoken in a male voice –

"Gooshie?!"

Looking up he saw the man known as Jack O'Neill, but who had to be Sam Beckett. The background was now relatively static, showing a room full of books and strange artefacts, but the man was still blurry – close enough to recognise though.

Gooshie grinned weakly and waved, trying to stand up straight again. "Hey, Sam!"

"Gooshie?" Sam repeated, also waving and walking closer towards him. "Is ... you?"

"Can you hear me Sam? Sam?" Gooshie blinked a few more times, slowly centring his thoughts away from his breakfast – he wasn't used to this weird hologram nonsense. "Ziggy, what's going on?"

"I am working on focussing the signal Dr Fisichella, please be patient." For once Ziggy sounded a little strained.

"Yeh, well I'm about to throw up so you can imagine how glad I am to know that I really am a badly tuned brainwave at the moment," he cracked, swallowing uneasily.

"Gooshie ... flickering so I don't ... much ... can see ... hear – but ... really good ... you ..."

Sam's voice was as distorted as his visual signal, but it sounded to Ziggy as if he was also whispering which didn't help. Then again, of course he didn't want to look like a madman and Gooshie couldn't tell if there was anyone else around or not.

"... Al? ... don't ans... this place ... O'Neill's ... handful. Ok ... nodding ... search ... gate ... crazy ... right ..."

It looked like Sam was trying to find a pen and paper – "Oh! He must have meant write..." Gooshie finally realised, walking closer to the desk where Sam was crouching.

"Ziggy, are you getting this?" The programmer yelled.

"Gooshie, just read back whatever you can," Tina said anxiously. "Ziggy's being jammed from someplace in the base there and the signal's getting weaker. We might lose him in a minute."

"Ok, there are a few words but they're really indistinct." Gooshie replied, seeing the paper through an ever-fluctuating signal. Oooh – headache bad, bellyache worse. "It looks like... Stargate?? All one word. Also nak, um, I'll spell it – N-A-Q-U-A-D-A-H. The last two lines seem to be names."

He glanced at Sam/Jack before moving in closer to get a better look. It had been years since he'd seen his friend properly, but now clearly wasn't the time for a reunion.

"Right, the names are Dr Daniel Jackson... and... Samantha Carter... she's got a question mark next to her, ah! It says 'Dr' with a question mark... Oh!"

Suddenly Gooshie realised that he couldn't hold it back any more and sat down hard. The imagery was fading rapidly and yellow lights were swimming in front of his eyes. His headache had quadrupled in pain, and he could taste bile... this wasn't good, and Gooshie didn't feel like he could handle a full conversation even if Sam came into focus and offered him a nice hot drink.

"...shie?" was the last he heard from Sam before the Imaging Chamber walls and floor appeared.

Lying flat on his back on the cold hard floor, Gooshie breathed in and out slowly in a desperate attempt to calm his body functions. The lack of distorted sounds and visual images was bliss. He heard the chamber door slide open and Tina ran in, sitting down close by and gently lifting his head into her lap.

"Gooshie? There's a nurse coming, ok?" She said softly.

The temporary Observer sighed, a mix of happiness and sorrow. Why did it take a crisis to convince Tina to fuss over him?

* * *

Next chapter: Stargate Command


	10. Stargate Command

Disclaimer: I own nothing other than the little voices in my head.

Reviewers: thanks again, you really are great! And apologies for my slowness this week – I enjoyed my long weekend and came back to a pile of work, bleh... The treat of the day is a nice mug of Horlicks!

Enjoy your weekends!

* * *

**Stargate Command – 20th September, 1998**

Sam thought he might be getting a handle on things now, at least he hoped he was. He had a far better idea of where and when he was, and what this place was geared around, though his mission was still a total mystery.

The primer he'd read in Carter's lab had been a massive shock to his system, but seeing how the entire base revolved around what might otherwise be dismissed as mass hysteria he couldn't deny the fact that it was true. It was almost as 'crazy' as his own strange method of time travel.

Aliens not only existed, but some of them would like nothing better than to destroy Earth. One particular race had a habit of enslaving humans and making them their submissive hosts, something that he found utterly repulsive, and they were responsible for most of Earth's mythological Gods and ancient cultures! The archaeologist within him had cried out against that possibility, but the evidence was there to prove it – and it certainly explained why someone like Daniel Jackson was onboard. Other aliens were friendly, including a more compromising offshoot of the parasitic race, and some had built this amazing Stargate network that actually created and controlled wormholes between specific planets – now that part he really wanted to study some more. And finally, the US Government blatantly knew about all of this... but there was nothing to say that any other world government did. Considering the size of the threat, Sam wasn't too sure whether this was for the best – but if it got out to the public he knew that they really would have mass hysteria on their hands.

Sam concluded that his mission couldn't be to break this story to the world – which wasn't too surprising since his assignments didn't tend to be that earth-shattering (no pun intended) – but he had far too many other guesses. He had originally considered the possibility that he was here to help Daniel find the mysterious Sha're, who he now knew to be a woman from the planet of Abydos and currently host to the Goa'uld Ammonet – definitely not the 'Sharon Ray' that his sleepy mind had concocted in the wee hours of the morning. This didn't seem likely though, since he had no chance of _talking_ the parasite out of its host and presumably if surgery was an option then it would already be a standard procedure.

Other alternatives were to help Captain Carter with her wormhole theories, or perhaps Daniel with a translation of two – though he now knew that the languages Daniel was preoccupied with were not human. Maybe it was that weird device, or someone else on the base? He hadn't even met this Teal'c guy, and as far as he could tell the man wasn't exactly... well... a man! The possibilities confounded him, and without Al and Ziggy –

"Ok Colonel, you're free to go," a young male voice said, breaking Sam out of his daydream.

"Oh, um, thanks, er... Brown," he replied, annoyed with himself for sinking so deep into his thoughts while the nurse checked his sprained ankle.

"Are you sure you're all right there, Colonel?" It was Dr Fraiser now, with a concerned expression on her face. "You looked a bit zoned out there. If you need some painkillers just let me know."

Sam shook the suggestion off hurriedly. "No, not at all Doctor – I was trying to think what to say to the recruits tomorrow. General Hammond has assigned Teal'c and I to give them a few hard words from the front."

"Well at least you can give them first hand information on how a small slip can create a big pain in the butt," Janet laughed pointedly. "Though I don't think our wheelchairs are quite that uncomfortable."

"Got it in one Doctor! Say, I don't suppose you know how long it'll be before I can walk around again, do you?"

"Some things never change do they, Jack? Look I don't want you out of that wheelchair before tomorrow, and even then it'll still be crutches for a couple of days – bare minimum." The doctor's voice was stern, and Sam remembered Al once telling him that a Chief Medical Officer could overrule any other officer on base if he or she saw fit. "I can understand that you might not want those kids to see you as an invalid, but if you want to make it back to active duty before next week you're going to have to keep resting that ankle. Come back here early tomorrow and we'll see what we can do, but I'm not promising anything. And testing it will only set you back – I have my spies everywhere."

Sam sighed. "Ok, so Daniel ratted on me."

She smiled and brought the wheelchair closer to the bed. "Now let's get you out and about again, ok Colonel? We still have these poor fellas to deal with." She nodded in the direction of a few closed curtains. "Two of SG6 and one of SG8 are still under strict surveillance. It was Yu's Jaffa – they were hit by staff weapons, like Sergeant Reilly last night when you three came through."

So that's what he'd seen last night! Sam had read something about staff weapons and another weapon called a zat'n'ktel, both used by the Goa'uld's soldiers... men who carried Goa'uld larvae as symbiotes, somewhere in their abdomen... Jaffa – like Teal'c. Sam shuddered involuntarily. This Leap was uncanny.

"Give them all my best would you, Doctor?"

Dr Fraiser nodded. "Of course, Colonel. Now get out of my infirmary!"

She and the male nurse, Brown, helped him into the wheelchair and he waved off offers of help to take him to his office. The fact that he had no idea where that was didn't matter, because there could be no better time to explore a little and test his memory of this maze of a place than when no-one was expecting him. That, and he could meet more people – it was always possible that Jack O'Neill might be in a position to help any of these people at the SGC, even someone he barely knew.

Trundling his way through the base, Sam received numerous nods and salutes from various personnel – and nodded in return. They all seemed amused to see Colonel O'Neill in a wheelchair, but considering the alternative and the fact that this was his body not Jack's, Sam decided that he didn't want a permanent limp following him from Leap to Leap, and as such some out-of-character behaviour would be just fine.

That, and he could cover a lot more ground in this thing than he would on crutches – he found what looked like a lab wing, high security / decontamination / quarantine cells, a well-guarded armoury and an extensive library area. He was sorely tempted to take a look around the library especially, but the Airman at its front desk had looked so shocked to see him there that Sam had hastily called out that he was just getting used to his new set of wheels. O'Neill was not a literary man, it seemed.

Finally, Sam entered what looked more like an office area close to the briefing room he'd visited earlier with Daniel and Captain Carter. He guessed that Jack's office would be somewhere around here seeing as he led the flagship team and seemed to be the second highest ranking officer after General Hammond. He was right – and after thanking a Marine guard who helped him with the door he sat back and took stock of the room.

On first glance it looked like a typical military office. There were numerous frames around the room containing certificates and medals, a couple of old looking weapons hung on hooks, a small number of books and only a few photographs. The most personal photos were clustered around the computer, including one of a young boy – Jack's son? There was no clue to his name, but the edges looked as though it had been held a great deal. Definitely someone he was fond of. Other photos looked more job related, including one of 4 men all blacked up in combat gear next to a particularly dangerous looking helicopter. An old squad perhaps? He couldn't tell which one was Jack, though he had taken a peek in the mirror earlier.

Looking closer at the desk he saw that it was what he'd call 'unloved' – the papers seemed to be organised in a 'do I have to?' kind of way, with smaller jobs at the top and larger ones at the bottom. Picking through them Sam could see that some documents at the bottom had been there since June! But then maybe there were other reasons for that, he told himself, perhaps they were ongoing projects or studies that Jack was merely observing and not actually taking part in. He decided to turn the computer on and was immediately asked for a password – so much for luck, it looked like he'd have to wait for a chance to use someone else's again.

Sam decided to try the books for more clues, but then caught a glimpse of the clock – it was quarter to eleven. Nearly time to wake up Daniel.

Setting everything back in its place he opened up the door again with some difficulty – the Marine must be elsewhere on patrol – and headed off in the direction that felt best. It would take him down some corridors that he hadn't visited yet, but his mental map told him that there should be a route through. Relieved, he found that he was correct a few minutes later. It would have been awkward to explain to some Airman – or even Daniel – that he was running late because he'd gotten lost!

This time he opened the door with more ease, having figured out a good way to angle the chair while turning the handle, and entered slowly. Sam heard Daniel before he saw him, breathing softly like someone peacefully asleep. Thankfully the wheelchair was well oiled and didn't squeak, so Sam decided that this was an ideal opportunity to explore the room and its contents. Moving carefully to avoid knocking into any of the vast array of books and artefacts, Sam indulged his curiosity as far as he was able in the dim light of the desk lamp that Daniel must have left on. The books were all that he would expect of a person of Daniel's speciality, focussing on Egyptology, Archaeology, Anthropology, a few ethnographies regarding first contact peoples and low technology societies, as well as numerous books on Linguistics and Ancient Languages. It was a real cornucopia.

To many people the range and style of organisation might seem eclectic, but Sam – having read several of them back in the days before Project Quantum Leap – could immediately see that Daniel had arranged these books in an order of what he could only describe as 'attitude.' There were the strict, straight down the line, classical books in one bookcase – mostly from the 19th and early 20th centuries, when archaeological theory was extremely euro-centric. The upper half of this bookcase contained more open-minded books, but more in the sense that the authors listed their objective findings separately to their more subjective conclusions, making it a lot easier to go back to and reinterpret the data in light of future findings. There were also a few technical books, mostly academic and scientific but also – Sam snickered when he saw this – 'Windows for Dummies'.

The second bookcase was far more... liberated. Here were the popular science books detailing the signs of water erosion on the Sphinx, alien abduction stories, the frequency with which pyramids appeared again and again in ancient societies – books that no normal scientist would be seen dead with. With them were issues of academic journals that had printed the original articles listing these theories in greater scientific detail, but again due to their content the journals were independent publications and not mainstream or professional. Sam knew the feeling – his string theory hadn't been well received by academia, so it had taken nearly 20 years to source funding for its development from a paranoid government seeking a twisted new weapon for its armoury.

As interesting as those shelves were, Sam was more drawn to the folders containing Daniel's own theories and reports. He'd read a few on the computer, but if Dr Jackson was anything like most scientists he had one set of results and findings that were presented to his employers and a wholly different set that he kept to himself for further analysis and development over time. That was the troubling difference between academia and commercial study – on the one hand you had to fight tooth and nail for funding but had all the time in the world (within limits) to produce results, and on the other you received a regular salary but conclusions were expected to arrive on demand. It was that conflict of interest that had led Sam to step into the quantum leap accelerator early, in a desperate attempt to prove that it could work to the government sponsors who wanted results yesterday. Now if only he could reach those folders...

Suddenly he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Was Daniel waking up? Quickly he span around with an apologetic grin on his face, ready to face a man who might only see an intruder rifling through his things. It wasn't Daniel though – it was... Al? Whatever it was, it was flickering and holographic, and despite his relief that the team had finally found him he knew that if they were having trouble 'tuning in' then he still might be on his own.

The hologram focussed a little better and Sam blinked in amazement. This person had far too much bushy hair to be Al. "Gooshie?!"

The image waved. "... Sam!"

"Gooshie? Is that you? Where's Al?" Sam repeated, waving back and drawing closer to the fuzzy image. The chances were that Gooshie could see and hear him just as badly, but it was worth a shot. Then again he remembered belatedly that he had to be quiet – Daniel was still asleep.

"... you hear ... Sam? ... Zig ... going ..." The hologram was clearly annoyed.

"Gooshie, you're really flickering a lot so I don't know much you can see or hear – but it's really good to see you ok? Where's Al? No, don't answer that," Sam continued after a moment's thought. "I'm guessing from this place that O'Neill's a bit of a handful. Ok, you're nodding so you can hear me. Do a search on 'Stargate' would you? It might sound crazy – wait, you're looking vague again, I'll write it down."

Frustrated, Sam looked around for a pad and a permanent marker. If he could write a few things down in solid enough letters he might be able to get a message across.

"... getting ...!"

Sam couldn't tell what Gooshie was trying to say, but from his expression he guessed that it wasn't directed at him anyway, and having found a marker pen he was concentrating harder on making sure that whatever he was trying to convey would generate a few hits via Ziggy's enormous search capabilities.

"... words ... really ...... looks ... star ... one ..."

Gooshie's image was fading fast, as was the audio, but as far as he could tell the man was reading everything back to others – with any luck he could see it right too, so Sam smiled encouragingly while casting a glance back over towards the daybed The last thing he needed was for Daniel to wake up in the middle of this.

"... nak ...Q-U ... H ... two ... names ... Dr ... son ... anth ... er ... got ... mark ... ah! ... with ... ques ... Ungh!"

The last sound was definitely not a happy one, and the hologram looked like he was faltering badly.

"Gooshie?" Sam asked in alarm, forgetting that he was meant to be quiet. "Are you ok?"

But it was too late – his old friend was gone, and he had no idea when he'd be back. He didn't even know why Al wasn't in there, but it had to be serious. Hopefully he'd given them a few clues though, ones that Jack O'Neill may not have mentioned given due to the obviously classified nature of this project. Well at least he couldn't say that this Leap wasn't intellectually stimulating!

A mumble from the other side of the room caught him unawares. "Jack?"

Daniel was waking up, stirring on the bed and blinking in a bit of a daze. Glancing at the clock Sam saw that it was ten past 11 now – time to get back into the role.

"Wake up sleepy head! I would have brought you some coffee, but there aren't any cup holders on this thing!"

"Do you have to be so _awake_? What time is it?" The archaeologist grumbled.

"Well past time you were up, it's gone 11," Sam replied, trying not to laugh. He really did like this guy. "Where do you keep those power bars?"

"Bottom left desk drawer, behind the packet of nuts – Janet's idea, not mine."

Rummaging in the drawer, Sam noticed the photo of a beautiful young woman on the desk itself. Unlike the photo in Jack's office this one was framed, however the light showed up fingerprints on the glass about her face. It had to be Sha're. That was one thing that Sam was thankful for, that he hadn't left a wife behind. He was certain that he'd have remembered someone so important, and Al had never mentioned a significant other – apart from his own numerous ex-wives and girlfriends. Daniel, on the other hand, had lost his wife to what was essentially a living death.

Throwing a bar over to his new friend, Sam saw other photos on the desk – far less personal but certainly as intriguing. "Is this that translation you mentioned earlier, Daniel?"

The archaeologist had swivelled his legs around and was sitting on the side of the bed, still looking a little bleary. "Yes – there are a few of both P2Q-198 and PX7-418 in there, but I haven't managed to get anywhere as yet. What we're really trying to crack is the Ancients' language of course, but those cunei-runes could be the key." He yawned, then coughed as a piece of power bar fell down the back of his throat. "Ouch. What have you been up to this morning anyway, other than poking around in my office again? Have you seen Sam again?"

Sam tried his hardest not to look guilty. "I wasn't poking around! Just waiting for the right moment to wake you up. And no I haven't seen Captain Carter – instead I've been practicing getting around in my mini-humvee here, as well as checking in with the lovely Dr Fraiser – speaking of whom..."

It was Daniel's turn to look guilty. "Ok, so I bumped into her on my way back here. It's not good to hide things from your doctor, Jack. I have to get on with this work now though – shouldn't you be preparing for your study date with the kids tomorrow?"

Reflecting the smirk on Daniel's face, Sam turned back to the photos and tried to figure out what it reminded him of.

"It really is a combination of ancient Norse runes and Sumerian cuneiform isn't it?" He mumbled absently. "Good name, cunei-runes... It would be nice to be able to talk to them wouldn't it?"

Turning his head again he noticed the surprised expression on Daniel's face. "Who? The Vikings, the Babylonians, the Asgard, the Oannes or the Ancients? And I've never seen you take much notice in linguistics anyway – or is something coming back to you from that information they downloaded into you?"

"Wha?!" Sam made a desperate attempt to recover from yet another shock. He knew aliens existed, but did the SGC really just chat to them? And what was this about information being downloaded into Jack's brain? "Um, no – I guess your bad influence must be rubbing off on me, that's all." A lop-sided grin ought to cover it.

"Uh-huh." Daniel didn't look like he was buying it. "Whatever you say, Jack. But you're right – maybe we should try contacting the Asgard about it, though Thor's never been very forthcoming with information about the Ancients. I _really_ don't want to run into Nem again though."

Nem, Nem, Nem... Sam drew a blank, so he decided to make a quick exit. His photographic memory would be enough to recreate those symbols at a later time anyway, providing his mind didn't swiss-cheese itself during the Leap – it might be fun to have a good look at them.

"Well, I'd better be getting along anyway – time to visit Major Stubbs and pick up that curriculum, y'know."

"Yeh, I've got a fair bit to get on with as well. This translation, and that one on Hemuset's artefacts..." Daniel sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "But hey, Teal'c will be back later so we can all catch up over dinner. Sound good?"

"You mean you'll be eating proper food later on?" Sam couldn't resist the opportunity to tease.

"Yes, Jack. Now thank you for waking me up, but would you please get out of here before you break something?"

Sam gripped the wheels of his chair. "Just open the door and see me fly, Dr Jackson!"

Daniel rolled his eyes and turned the handle. "Just when you thought it was safe to roam the corridors of the SGC..."

* * *

Next chapter: the Control Room


	11. Breakthrough

Disclaimer: if anyone would like to sue me for stealing his or her ideas, please note that I can only offer second hand furniture as compensation.

Reviewers: you truly are stars – apologies if the story's fluffing a bit, I'm just trying to make them all get to the point in a vaguely realistic (i.e. round about) kind of way. The treat of the day is a Krispy Kreme doughnut of your choice!

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**September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

"What would it take for you to believe me, O'Neill?"

Jack roused himself from his dark, brooding thoughts and looked over toward 'Admiral Calavicci'.

"I believe they call it a miracle, Al," he replied dryly. "That's what it would take."

The other man let out a groan of dissatisfaction. "Give me strength!"

The pair of them had been shut in the Waiting Room for nearly 2 hours now, and Jack could see that his captor was becoming extremely restless. This was fine by him, because impatient people made mistakes. He knew that from experience, but it would be nice to pull the trick on someone else for once. He hadn't even let Al call up Ziggy for an update since Gooshie's last message, which seemed to be the man's most frequent request. Not that Gooshie had actually revealed anything useful that last time, but the contact had seemed to comfort funny man over here.

Now Al seemed to be suffering from some kind of withdrawal. Maybe he was a smoker, but it was more likely to be the lack of information that was stifling him. The story of having lost a friend might be true, but Jack still didn't believe that load of bull about why they needed to look for him at the SGC. He knew that solar flares and a Stargate could make a time machine, but he'd never heard Carter mention anything about time travel that made you swap places with someone – and if anyone would have heard of it, it would have been her. Nah, it was something else entirely and this guy just wanted to know more about the Stargate.

What bothered him most was how these guys had gotten hold of him. He clearly remembered running for the Stargate with those Jaffa from Hemlock, or whatever her name was, blasting away behind them. He'd dialled the DHD and Space Monkey had gone through with her 'precious' first of all, then Carter, and finally he'd gone through himself – except he'd woken up here instead of running into the Gate Room. Had they somehow diverted the signal to another Stargate? On Earth or elsewhere? Was it the NID or the Russians... or someone else? And did they have the rest of his team, or just him? This was really bugging him, though even if they did have all three of them that meant that Teal'c was still free.

This guy did seem to be from Earth, and from the US. He was a little unorthodox for an Admiral, but then he himself wasn't exactly your average Colonel. The only other voices he'd heard so far were those of Gooshie – world's unluckiest nickname, in his opinion – and Ziggy, who was allegedly a female thinking computer. Then there was the mysterious Tina, who apparently worked here but who seemed to mean something more to Al given the look on his face when he'd mentioned her earlier. Interesting. An office romance? Maybe more, if she wasn't military herself – could be another civilian consultant like Daniel. And the whole place was called 'Project Quantum Leap'. What the hell did that mean? Without Carter he had no chance of understanding that conundrum.

'Get back to business, O'Neill,' he reminded himself, snapping back to focus on Al. Somehow he'd landed in here, and this man was the one who could tell him how to get out, even if he did have to lean on the guy some more.

"Tell me again, one more time please Admiral? If you would be so kind?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well we don't have any other entertainment around here and I'm not especially willing to talk, so I may as well hear your fairy tale again and pick it to pieces." Jack smiled ingratiatingly. "I'm hell at the movies too, all I do is point out the big holes in the plot."

"If you didn't understand it the first time, I don't think you will now," Al replied condescendingly.

"Ooh, funny man wants to take the nasty Colonel down a peg or three. I'm not stupid, big shot, just dangerous when pissed."

"Typical Irish."

"Goddamned Italians."

Al rolled his eyes. "Look, if you want a bedtime story, we could probably ask Ziggy to send down a copy of _Bambi_ – or would that make you cry?"

"No, it would not. _The Wizard of Oz_ might be more fun though, now that you mention it."

"Oh, so we have a comedian here, do we? Well I'm glad you find this so funny, because I don't!"

"The only thing funny in here is your dress sense, Al."

Al's eyes narrowed to slits and his bushy eyebrows seemed to dominate his face. "Look, I don't pretend to understand everything that goes on in this place, especially the physics of it all, but I do know that it works and that it happens on a regular enough basis that if I question anything the proof is right before my eyes."

Jack had finally gotten what he wanted – a reaction from a frustrated man. He wasn't sure what he could do with it other than torment the guy, since Al was dead set that he couldn't open the door without Ziggy's say-so.

"Uh-huh, and there I was thinking that you were the man in charge," Jack responded blandly.

"With all due respect, _Colonel_," Al growled. "You are standing between me and the man in charge. And believe me, the only thing that's stopping me from breaking your nose right now is the fact that I would then have to look at my best friend's face with blood all over it."

"Oh, so you want to punch my lights out, do you? You're getting a little frisky for a desk jockey!"

That last phrase was a mistake, because it woke Al up to his overreaction. "Look pal, I'm not going to try to hit you because you've already proven that you can beat me. As for being the man in charge, I'm here because I believed in him and because he needed me make the project look good on paper. The US Government funds quite a few wacky sounding projects, but they still like to think that they're under the thumb."

Now Jack was waking up. It was true; the government did fund at least two 'wacky' projects that he already knew of – Stargate Command and Area 51 – not to mention the NID, however indirectly it was paid for. There was the possibility that there were others, but... nah, he wasn't going to buy this.

"Oh yeh, like what?"

"Well I heard the CIA had a 'remote viewing' branch for a while, trying to find psychics who could see strategic targets from a long way away – military bases, power stations, you name it. It was supposed to be a parallel with similar work in the Soviet Union at the time."

"Right, and you believe that?" Jack didn't have to try to sound incredulous – he'd heard this one before and didn't believe it for a second.

"I believe that they might have tried, but it would take a fair bit for me to actually believe in it actually working."

"Damn straight," Jack nodded. "So you can see why I'm having a little trouble here, right?"

"Of course! But it's like the Roswell story and aliens – it might have happened, it might not, but you can bet your bottom dollar that if it was true the government would keep a pretty tight lid on it."

Jack spluttered, possibly a little too much. "Ha! Aliens, little grey men – I don't think so."

Al fell silent, and Jack wondered if he'd caught his slip about the little _grey_ men. Sure, he'd mentioned them before... but something was telling him that Al didn't believe in aliens, so maybe he wasn't from the NID. If that was the case though, where was he from?

"Are you telling me that you have never, not once, been sent on a mission – or heard tell of one from a friend of a friend – that had a bit of weirdness in it?" Al probed.

"Depends on what you mean by 'weirdness'."

"I mean something that you might not want to pass along yourself in case you sound like a complete and utter lunatic, Jack, something that doesn't make sense in the normal world. Psychics, angels, aliens, zombies – the kooky stuff that you don't normally find outside science fiction or the supernatural."

Al's face was almost begging for a positive answer. He was asking for a leap of faith, as far as Jack could tell, but Jack wasn't inclined to let him know that he'd seen and experienced a great deal of 'weirdness'.

"No Al, I have not," he replied, deadpan. "Have you? Other than becoming a hologram and visiting your best friend who jumps around in time, of course, because apparently that's normal."

The other man was silent, and Jack saw that his expression was a bit like Daniel's when he was trying to summon up the courage to explain something to Jack that he knew Jack wouldn't like.

"I've seen an angel," Al replied softly – almost nervously. "She helped us out, and then she vanished. Everyone who'd seen her forgot about her, except me because I wasn't physically in that time."

"An angel? With wings and a harp and all that?"

Jack was extremely sceptical. Aliens were one thing, but angels were supposed to be from God and he'd seen far too many 'gods' to believe in that crap any more. Al was shaking his head though.

"No, no, no... she was a loud, fat, obnoxious Puerto Rican singer from New York, if you can believe it. Said she'd died in the Twenties and was sent back to do a few good deeds, because she'd been a vain person." He shrugged. "I thought she was crazy, because she could see me as a hologram and normally only kids, animals or loons can see me – but then she vanished and Sam – who'd defended her all along – couldn't even remember her name!"

"Uh huh. So once she'd vanished, you believed in her."

"I guess," Al looked pained. "It was one of those things that still doesn't make sense. My... second! ... ex-wife was big on Hungarian superstitions, but I never really believed anything until... well, you get the picture. "

"I'll bet!" Jack laughed, thinking that this man was a bit of a loon himself. Either that or an extremely good actor. And who had that many exes that they had to think hard to remember which was which – other than Liz Taylor, of course. "So that was the weirdest thing you've ever seen – apart from the time travel mojo?"

A look of fear crossed Al's face. "No... no, but the only one I ever want to think about again."

"What? Something scare you bad did it? A trip to the haunted house?"

"Worse, and I never could talk to a shrink about it because they'd slap me in the nuthouse as soon as look at me."

Jack scoffed. "Yeh, I suppose a scary story plus the tale of why you were there – visiting your good friend Dr Beetlejuice back in the 19-whatevers, while he was trying to stop little Jimmy from having his head flushed down the toilet so that he would go on to become President of the United States after all. That would kinda clinch it wouldn't it. Al?"

Al's face could only be described as haunted, staring dead ahead and clearly not listening to Jack's neatly designed taunts. He looked like a guy who suddenly realised he'd lost his nerve and might not be able to jump out of another helicopter.

"Al?" Jack waved his hand in front of the man's face. "Snap out of it, man!"

He clapped loudly, and Al 'woke up' with a jump.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, sailor. Jeez, they don't make kidnappers like they used to do they?" Jack asked the empty air.

"It was a mummy."

The whisper was barely enough to be heard, but it made Jack's perk up. "What did you say?"

"It was a mummy," Al repeated, louder this time. He shook himself, as if trying to rid himself of goose bumps, then looked hard at Jack. "The weirdest – the scariest – thing I ever saw was a mummy. Not one of those ones you see in a museum, though he did look pretty old and dry. No, he was in a tomb – his tomb – and he was trying his damnedest to get out."

Jack tried to decide whether this guy was just trying another tack now, or whether he was serious. Had Al really seen a Goa'uld getting out of his sarcophagus? Or was he fishing by dropping titbits related to the Stargate program? Probably the latter, as far as Jack was concerned.

"Maybe you do belong in the nuthouse," Jack commented nonchalantly, one eyebrow raised in a Teal'c-like way. No way was he going to reveal a thing.

Al just glared at him, then sighed. His shoulders seemed to slump in defeat. "Look, even Sam didn't believe me on this one. There was a whole lot of stuff going on that the locals thought was due to the curse of Ptah-Hotep – that was the mummy's name – people dying, cars not working, even the door to the Imaging Chamber wouldn't work, but Sam wouldn't have any of it. Then again, it's his fault that I even _saw _the mummy!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well there was this other guy, Dr Razul – who it turned out was actually to blame for the people dying and the car not working and all that – but right at the end he got trapped in the burial chamber because this big rock covered the door. They all needed to get out before a sandstorm hit, so Sam yelled and told him how to reset the mechanism even though the guy was a lying, conniving bastard, but then he just started yelling and Sam told me to go through and see what was happening."

Al stopped briefly and took a breath, his eyes wide. Jack was intrigued.

"Go on."

"I don't know why I'm even telling you this, because you're not going to believe me," the Admiral commented, still sounding a little panicky.

"True, but it looks like you've been saving this story for a rainy day, so you may as well finish."

To be honest Jack just wanted to know if the guy was going to make a hash of it, because the NID tended to stay well clear of planets under Goa'uld rule. They just got in and got out with whatever seemed most valuable to the locals, so it was unlikely that this guy had any idea what a Goa'uld would really do if he woke up to find an archaeologist in his tomb.

The other man frowned, then threw his hands in the air. "Ok, ok. I walked through the wall – and... ran out again."

"That's not the end of the story, Al."

"No, it's not," he replied, his eyes moving quickly as if to avoid Jack's stare. "But Sam Leaped out before I could see much more so I don't _really_ know what the end of the story was..."

Jack shook his head in contempt. A bad actor after all, or one without enough information to ad-lib effectively. "You know that really is a poor effort at a scary story. So you saw a mummy, big deal – what's to be scared of? You must have really small –"

"Enough!" Al was pissed now. "This is what I was always afraid of. Not even my best friend believed me, so I don't know why I'm so surprised that a military robot like wouldn't either."

"Well what do you expect me to do – believe every part of your piss-poor story? Feel sorry for you? Let you go free while I stay shut up in here? I don't think so!" Jack blazed back.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

With that done, the pair crossed their respective arms and settled down to a rather uncomfortable silence. A silence that was eventually broken by Al.

"For your information, that mummy was damn scary."

"Oh yeh?" Jack was beyond caring.

"Yeh. When I walked through there, he was killing Dr Razul. That's why he was yelling."

Another ploy, Jack decided wearily. "Al, mummies are dead already – they can't have a beer, let alone kill someone."

"Not this one." Al's voice was quiet and controlled, as if he was trying to keep strong emotions at bay. "This one sat up in his coffin and... and... he held up his hand... and there was this golden light in his eyes... and Dr Razul was just writhing, completely curled up in what looked like absolute agony while this death ray... or something, God only knows what... this light from the mummy's hand poured down on him and wouldn't stop. I'm mean he was killing him, Jack, he was really killing him..."

Al's voice trailed off and Jack made a point of watching his every movement. Body language was hard to fake, at least past the basic stages, and Al really look like he was reliving a moment of abject horror.

"Sounds terrifying." Al looked up and Jack met his gaze levelly. "I mean it, Al." And he did. He still wasn't convinced that Al had met a Goa'uld, but he did see a man who had a major fright to get over. "What happened next?"

A short laugh. "I already told you – I ran out again. I was too terrified, though the mummy couldn't have done anything to me because I was a hologram. It was one of those things that makes you remember why you believed in monsters under your bed when you were a little kid, y'know? He was that monster, and he wasn't in some scary movie. It was 100 times more frightening than my first enemy engagement in 'Nam, and that time round I'd had a weapon in my hand – but in that tomb, with that mummy, I felt naked, and completely helpless."

Jack nodded, confused but fascinated. "I take it he didn't follow you then?"

"Yeh well, we don't know!" Al continued, a little calmer now. "Not too long after I ran out, the yelling stopped and then rock over the doorway started to lift. Sam wanted to stay and help Dr Razul out, and he wouldn't believe me when I said that the man had to be dead, but he did remember that there was a massive sandstorm on the way and that made him move. Then he Leaped, and all we know from the history records that the tomb was never found again – in fact it's now safe under Lake Aswan. The only difference was that the two American archaeologists escaped to tell the tale this time round."

"And no one ever heard from Dr Razul ever again?"

"No," Al shook his head. "Ziggy checked. There's no record of him after that date, he didn't come out of the desert with Dr Conway – Conway being the guy that Sam had Leapt into – and the delectable Ginny. He couldn't have escaped the sandstorm on foot either – it was one of the ones that swallows everything up."

"Hmm, nice story," Jack leaned back on the bed, thinking hard. He wasn't sure what to think, and he could feel Al's eyes on him. "What?"

"'Nice story'? Is that all you can say?"

"What were you expecting? Me jumping around, freaking out that King Tut might walk through the door some time?"

The fact that Jack knew that some mummies could wake up was a completely different point, as far as he was concerned – he was still trying to weigh up Al's quantum leaping story in light of a possible encounter with the Goa'uld. If – and only if! – this was the case, then it could explain what he was doing here. It was still kinda unlikely, but he could almost imagine the look on Al's face if he explained what it was that _he_ did for a living. It would be like looking in a mirror – except that if he looked in the mirror he saw this Beckett guy. That really was freaky. He could let Al go, but still not mention anything about Stargate Command...

"I have one condition."

Al looked up again, startled. He'd probably assumed that Jack was going to sink back into a silent mood, keeping that bit of glass close to hand in case he made a break for it.

"One condition for what?"

"One condition for letting you go," Jack smiled to see the reaction on Al's face. "And that condition is that you let me out as well."

Al's automatic reaction was to protest, and Jack held up a finger to silence him.

"This is not up for debate, and I have no intention of ruining anything out there. I won't even ask you to let me out topside – we are underground, right?"

Al nodded.

"All I want is to take a look around this place," Jack stated calmly. "A look around this Project you have here. From what you've said before, I won't remember anything I see anyway, and in the meantime I'll be cooperative. I also promise no more violent or threatening behaviour. Now, are you willing to trust me?"

The Admiral frowned. "I'm not too sure, but it's not my call anyway. Ziggy?"

"Yes, Admiral Calavicci, I am listening. Before releasing you I would like a sign of good faith, Colonel."

"I can put away the glass if that's what you mean?" Jack replied brightly.

"No, Colonel. I am afraid that it is not quite that simple. I need to know how cooperative you will be, as it has been established that your workplace is almost as unusual as our own."

Al turned to stare at Jack, who shrugged in return. "What did you have in mind?"

Ziggy's voice was still sexy, but suddenly Jack realised that it bore no trace of real human emotion. "Dr Fisichella attempted to contact Dr Beckett via the Imaging Chamber and was moderately successful. We have confirmed that he is on Level –28 of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, however we are unable to access any information that might help us to ascertain the purpose of this Leap."

"And you want me to do what? Give you passwords? Point you in the right direction? I don't think so, Ziggy – I'd rather stay in this room with the good Admiral here." Jack was back on the defensive, and he was not going to put his team or his base in jeopardy.

"No, Colonel – that will not be necessary and I would not ask you to betray a trust. Our need is more for the present. Admiral –"she addressed Al suddenly. "The Appropriations Committee has taken note of our current lock-down and the Chairman has decided to pay us a visit this afternoon."

"What! Kinsey? That smug, lying, money-grabbing son of a bitch? He's coming here? Today?!"

Al's reaction could not possibly have been choreographed, and Jack's own reaction was to stare in shock. "Kinsey?"

The Admiral span around. "You know him?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Jack replied, a little confused but truthful all the same. There could only be one Kinsey. "He'd like nothing better than to shut down the base where I work. Personally I wouldn't mind shutting him down, if you know what I mean."

"Only too well... Ziggy, what do you have in mind then?" Al asked.

"Colonel, I have no wish to see this project shut down not only because it would make a lot of good people unemployed, but also because it would mean the end of my own existence," Ziggy announced, frankly. "Senator Kinsey's constant complaint regarding Project Quantum Leap is that we rarely make contact with anyone who 'makes a difference'. What I propose is that you pretend to be someone who does make a difference, someone who you might know quite well, and possibly someone who he knows well."

Jack blinked a few times, then it dawned on him. "You mean that he'd see me looking like your Dr Beckett and he wouldn't know, don't you? Ok, if that's what it takes – but that would put you in my debt. I don't know who to 'be' just yet, but I'll think of someone – even if it's myself. What do I get in return?"

"I would allow you to access my database, Colonel," Ziggy replied. "In the hope that you might come to believe in the reality of Project Quantum Leap and aid us in our attempt to complete Dr Beckett's current mission."

Jack looked toward Al and then down at his hands. He still saw his hands, but these people didn't and they didn't think that Kinsey would either. Oh how he'd like to get his hands on that man... but neither Al nor Ziggy knew how much bad blood was between he and Kinsey, so if they were wrong this could blow up in their faces big time. But it still gave him a chance to get out and see what made this place tick. He smiled.

"Ok, Ziggy – you have a deal."


	12. Teal'c's Return

Disclaimer: considering that hubby and I are having a tough time putting a deposit together for a house, it wouldn't be worth anyone's while to sue me. 

Reviewers: your treat for the day is a giant Double Chocolate Fudge Cake with cream, ice cream, custard... whatever you fancy... by way of apology for my impromptu holiday!! Thank you for your patience – and I hope it's worth the wait. Let's just say I've had a lot of work on (never take a job with a company that hasn't updated its legal statements in 25 years) and our home purchase fell through. UGGG!!!

Then again I now have proof that what goes around comes around: the people we were buying a flat never mentioned that their garden didn't legally exist (they fenced off some communal land) so we got the lawyers to check this out. Then they threatened to put it back on the market due to our 'delaying tactics' and eventually sold to a private buyer. This is the fun part. We're desperate to move so we promptly found somewhere better, put an offer in, got accepted and started rolling the ball once more... and now the other guys' private buyer has pulled out less than a week after they rejected us!! HAHAHA!! Yes, I am a vindictive cow.

NB. I can't remember when the Star Wars Special Editions came out exactly, except that it was during my last year of uni – plus I was in the UK so on a different release schedule to the US – so if the date is wrong, please forgive me!!

And now, back to the show...

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**Stargate Command – 20th September, 1998**

Teal'c stepped through the Stargate and courteously nodded his thanks to the personnel on the control deck. After two years he still found that the Tau'ri did not always make the time for such small gestures, particularly if the work concerned was straightforward and occurred regularly, however it was his belief that a brief nod was a simple means to maintain good relations with his SGC colleagues. Besides this he did not wish to attract what Captain Carter called 'discrimination' from those who had little contact with alien races, nor from those in the SG teams who had little non-hostile contact with his fellow Jaffa.

'I am an ambassador for my people,' he reminded himself, smiling a little as Master Sergeant Davis – the man who programmed the Stargate – nodded in return.

The former First Prime of Apophis was happy to return to duty following his refreshing visit to Chulak. As always on such occasions he wore the traditional armour of a Jaffa – it helped to remind his family, friends and fellow rebels that despite his work with the SGC he was still one of them. He had spent several days on his home world and could report back to General Hammond on the rebels' progress, but as ever it was the time that he had spent with his son Rya'c that had made the journey worthwhile. One day the boy would become a man, and Teal'c was hopeful that through the teachings of Bra'tac his son would also become a great warrior. Not for the first time, Teal'c remembered that he and SG1 had been unable to stop the _prim'tah_ ceremony during which Rya'c had received his first symbiote, however he drew comfort from the knowledge that that the benefits of the Goa'uld larvae – strength and accelerated healing – increased the threat that rebel Jaffa could bring against their former masters.

His visit enabled him to see that the number of Jaffa joining the rebel cause grew with each passing day. It saddened him that they remained too few to mount a serious assault on the System Lords, but Teal'c remembered the moment when Bra'tac had introduced him to the most recent additions to their army with pride. A full half of the Jaffa present had traced their enlightenment from Goa'uld propaganda to the actions of the Tau'ri, whether from meeting them in combat or from tales of their deeds. Yes, he decided, our numbers may be small but we gain in strength. Bra'tac, who had preceded him as First Prime to the false god Apophis, was now mentor to an entire people and maintained the discipline and wisdom for which he had been known across galaxy prior to his fall from grace. The aged warrior was the guiding light of the rebel movement and despite sharing the title of _shol'vah_ – traitor – with Teal'c and other openly 'blasphemous' Jaffa, he could still stare down even the loudest of upstarts. His death – long may it be delayed! – would not be the end of this man's legacy.

Walking down the ramp he heard the main door slide open and was surprised to see General Hammond's assistant appear between the Marine guards.

"Mr Teal'c sir," the Airman said nervously. "General Hammond requests that you, erm, come to his office as soon as you have attended to any personal needs."

The Jaffa warrior raised an eyebrow, then nodded his assent. He had witnessed such nervousness before, usually from newer recruits, and had commented to O'Neill that he found it odd that a person could feel nervous around someone they did not know well. It was rarely the tense apprehension that one would feel around a hissing snake, but a shy nervousness that seemed to inhibit rational thought. His brother-in-arms, Colonel O'Neill had groaned and described this as a common affliction in the SGC known as 'hero worship'. It appeared to be a sign that the person was overwhelmingly impressed with the reputation of the 'hero' in question, however Teal'c still failed to see why this should cause the 'worshipper' to lose the power of speech. A young Jaffa in this position would seek to conceal such weakness and might instead try to make a favourable impression on the hero through his own actions, but then this was not his culture.

"Please tell GeneralHammond that I will attend him in approximately 10 minutes," he instructed the young man, who gulped and stepped aside to allow him passage.

Walking through the corridors of the SGC, Teal'c reflected on how easy it had become for him to switch back and forth from his mother tongue to that of the American Tau'ri. He already spoke several languages prior to joining them, however it had of course been several millennia since any of them had been heard upon Earth and so he had had to start learning from scratch. Daniel Jackson had also made him aware that the native dialect of the SGC had its roots in many others and was not indigenous to their country at all – although he had admitted that this language, known as 'English', was one of the more dominant among the planet's thousands of dialects. It seemed to Teal'c that the Tau'ri had no agreed means of understanding each other, which appeared to be a most inefficient way to organise a planet.

Entering his quarters, Teal'c removed his Jaffa garb and had a quick shower – one thing about the Tau'ri world that he truly did enjoy – and dressed in the black t-shirt and BDUs of the SGC. It was certainly comfortable clothing, however he still had to fight against the sensation that these thin layers left him far too vulnerable – after nearly a century of active duty, Teal'c found it extremely difficult to 'switch off' as O'Neill called it, without the Jaffa meditation known as _kelno'reem_. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and noted that he should shave his head again tonight, and reluctantly stared at the golden brand of Apophis upon his forehead. He might never escape his former master's legacy, but he would fight against its influence until his very last breath.

Finally, just as he was about to leave the room, he noticed a small envelope on the TV with O'Neill's handwriting upon it – "Welcome back T". Raising an eyebrow, he picked up the envelope and pulled back the flap to reveal four cinema tickets to see "Return of the Jedi: Special Edition" – dated Sep. 20, 1998. Tonight. The accompanying note explained that O'Neill felt that SG1 had not had enough 'R&R' recently, and this would be an ideal opportunity for them all to get off-base. A corner of Teal'c's mouth twitched as he considered O'Neill's probable ulterior motive: the main cinema in Colorado Springs was opposite his favourite bar, O'Malleys. Having not seen his friends for several days, Teal'c concurred that this would be an ideal means of 'catching up'.

Placing the envelope back on the TV and turned smartly towards the door, noting from the clock on the wall that only 2 minutes remained until the time at which he had promised to meet General Hammond. He sincerely hoped that he did not encounter any further delays along his way; otherwise the base's commanding officer might not give him leave to go to the surface later on.

Having satisfactorily completed his journey, Teal'c knocked and entered the General's anteroom 'bang' on time. (This was a curious Tau'ri phrase that he had recently 'taken a fancy' to, and in a genuine attempt to 'fit in' he had commenced using such terms as whenever possible. Daniel Jackson had been most helpful when Teal'c came to him with this idea, and had promised to explain to him the appropriate usage of these peculiar expressions whenever possible. Teal'c suspected that if he had gone to O'Neill with this proposal, the Colonel's sense of humour might have 'thrown a chisel in the works').

"I trust that I am on time?" he commented, bowing slightly to the nervous assistant he had met earlier.

The assistant, showing his lack of self-control yet again, gulped before replying. "No sir, you're fine. I'll let General Hammond know that you're here."

As the young man walked around him to the General's door, the large Jaffa could not help but notice that while Dr Fraiser was a small woman with the presence of a First Prime, this Tau'ri was fully grown by this planet's standards and yet not even as confident as his own son. It was a good thing that this young one was not permitted to take part in combat or even exploratory missions, Teal'c decided, since he would surely injure himself by tripping over his bootlaces.

"Welcome back, Teal'c!" General Hammond's voice boomed through the newly opened door.

Teal'c smiled and stepped through, hands behind his back. "It is a pleasure to be back, GeneralHammond. I trust you are well?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. Yourself? And your family? Good, good – excuse me, West?" The base commander called out to his assistant via the intercom. "I don't suppose you could get us a little coffee, could you son? Is that ok by you, Teal'c?"

"I would very much enjoy a glass of either fruit juice or water, if that is possible sir," he replied calmly.

"Did you get that, West?" General Hammond waited for a positive response then nodded in a business-like way. "Ok Teal'c, take a seat. The drinks will be here in a moment. I'm sorry to call you straight in here but I'm due to make a report to the Commander-in-Chief myself, and it would be good to have some up-to-date data."

Teal'c inclined his head. "Understood, GeneralHammond. No apology is required."

Both men took their seats on respective sides of the desk, and Teal'c began by running through the increasing numbers of rebel Jaffa who had been contacting Bra'tac including several smaller groups still in service to the false gods that had not previously risked overt activity. He was pleased to note that the General immediately picked up on the implication that these cells could potentially be used as spies for the Tau'ri and their allies, however he stressed that this work should only be at their own instigation at first.

"Bra'tac and I agree that more of these covert networks must exist, and since the majority of members appear to be on the permanent staff of the System Lords' vessels they may be watching to see what happens." He took a sip of water and continued. "If our words and actions can convince them that they shall not be betrayed, misused or otherwise exposed we may find more Jaffa upon our doorstep, willing to fight the Goa'uld."

"Agreed," the General nodded. "It sounds as though they would be valuable allies, if we can win them over to our side."

"This is true, though it must also be noted that these Jaffa do not yet trust the Tau'ri. They have heard of the SGC, but they do not yet trust this planet's motives. Those with whom I met on Chulak were wary of speaking with me, and Bra'tac reluctantly complied with strict instructions to not reveal their identity or allegiance as yet."

"Hmmmm... is it possible that they are hiding something?" Hammond mused, warming his hands around his coffee. "Or behind something? Maybe we attacked one of their members during a mission... or is it possible that the Gould are feeding more bad information to their servants, saying that we get good people killed and eat symbiotes for breakfast?"

Teal'c paused a moment, wondering why it was that such brilliant men as General Hammond and O'Neill could mispronounce a name so badly and so frequently. 'Whatever', he mimicked silently, thinking that this phrase might apply in this situation and resolving to ask Daniel Jackson later.

"This is indeed possible, General," he replied eventually. "The System Lords have a great deal of information that could be cast in such a misleading light, and the SG teams have become a well-known and active source of unrest in this sector. Few Jaffa would hold a grudge against the SGC if one of their colleagues were to fall in combat however – we grow up knowing that we may meet one of our childhood friends across a battlefield."

"Very well," the General concluded. "I agree with yourself and Bra'tac that waiting for a willing ally later on is more advantageous than ruining a potentially useful relationship so soon. I am however very glad that word is getting out that the Earthlings are back in business."

Teal'c nodded deeply. "Bra'tac sends his glad thanks also. Many Jaffa are defying their masters because of this 'word'."

The older man smiled broadly and laughed. "We're outnumbered and outgunned, but at least we're making an impact. Now let's move on – SG1 has been stood down for the next few days and I have an assignment for you."

"For me, General?" Teal'c raised a questioning eyebrow. He was not accustomed to taking part in singular assignments, and General Hammond's words appeared to suggest that this was not a team mission. "How may I help?"

"Don't worry son, it's just a little more of what it seems that you've already been doing this past week," Hammond explained – evidently forgetting that the Jaffa before him was old enough to be his father. "I'd like you to join Colonel O'Neill at the Alpha site for a couple of days, where you'll be helping train and assess some of our newest recruits. A few of them, it seems, are seeing the SGC's mission as far too similar to a computer game if you know what I mean, and I'd like it if the pair of you could knock a little sense into them – even if it means making an example of some of them with a couple of zat blasts."

Teal'c nodded, impressed by General Hammond's open admission that faults existed under his jurisdiction and honoured by his candour. This sort of frankness was not expected on a _ha'tak_ vessel, although he did understand that Hammond would only give such information to those he trusted and that he was not likely to be executed for any failings.

"I feel flattened to have been asked, General," he replied, suddenly aware that the other man's eyes were in danger of popping out of his head. General Hammond had just taken a sip of coffee, but Teal'c did not think that it could still be hot enough to cause such discomfort so long after it was poured...

"I think you mean 'flattered', Teal'c," was the eventual explanation – and Teal'c, realising his own mistake, nodded his thanks to the unlikely English teacher. "What I'd like you to do now is to visit Colonel O'Neill and see how he's getting along with the curriculum he picked up this morning. I've asked him to stick to the plan as much as possible, but of course I do expect you to illustrate the theory with some real life experience."

"To discourage the students to consider the SGC as part of an interactive simulation, is that correct General?"

"You've got it, Teal'c. You'll leave tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. In the meantime, Dr Jackson and Captain Carter are working on an artefact they discovered during what didn't turn out to be a routine mission. If you could also drop in on them it would be appreciated – I'm sure Dr Jackson might want to pick your brains about the Goa'uld it belonged to, Hemset."

"Of course," the Jaffa replied, noting the tone of dismissal in General Hammond's voice and standing to go. "I too have a request, sir, if it is convenient?"

"Yes?"

"Colonel O'Neill has suggested that SG1 travel off-base tonight to 'catch up'. May I have your permission to visit Colorado Springs?"

"That sounds like a good idea to me, and I don't think I need to remind you about the usual precautions? I thought not," the General paused suddenly. "Say, does that mean that you've already seen Colonel O'Neill?"

"No, sir I have not," Teal'c replied, curious as to why a twinkle had appeared in General Hammond's eye. "Is there a further message that you would like me to give him?"

"No, no... no need, Teal'c. Just say hello for me. Dismissed."

"As you wish, General," Teal'c bowed and turned, no better informed. The Tau'ri did still confuse him from time to time.

On exiting the General's rooms, Teal'c did not spare Airman West even the barest glance and strode straight through to the corridor and headed a few doors down to Colonel O'Neill's office. The door was closed and so, in accordance with Tau'ri custom, he knocked.

"Er... come in?"

There was a sound of frantic rustling and desk drawers, something that Teal'c had come to associate with Colonel O'Neill's tendency to take frequent rest breaks while performing 'desk duty', as he called it. These breaks often involved either _National Geographic_ magazine (a publication that Teal'c indulged in occasionally himself) or _Simpsons _videos. The implication, however, was that these breaks were unauthorised and so O'Neill exhibited guilty behaviour when 'caught out'.

A small smile of amusement flickered about his lips as he turned the handle and entered.

"Have I come at a bad time, O'Neill?" He enquired politely as he shut the door, then found his eyes widening as they took in the image of his friend seated in what the Tau'ri imaginatively called a 'wheelchair'. "I apologise, O'Neill – I had not heard of your injury. May you heal swiftly and cleanly."

Teal'c sympathised greatly, though as a Jaffa he himself would always heal swiftly and cleanly due to the actions of his symbiote. A wounded Jaffa might _kelno'reem_ for longer than usual to allow his _prim'tah_ to dedicate the time and effort required to return its 'incubator' to health, however the Tau'ri retained a normal immune system and must therefore allow nature to take its course. Knowing Colonel O'Neill's distaste for hospitals, doctors and especially needles, Teal'c hoped that this wound was not serious.

"No problem," was the reply, although the voice shook a little – presumably O'Neill was in some pain, Teal'c concluded. "I had a little problem with the ramp in the Gate room. Welcome back... Tee-uk."

The Jaffa was curious. Not moments ago he had been contemplating the inadequacies of a young Airman, and now a great warrior whose name was cursed by Goa'uld System Lords had rendered himself incapable of walking by tripping down a ramp that he encountered regularly. Still, O'Neill was a man of great pride and Teal'c resolved not to pursue the issue any further than necessary.

"As you say, my friend," he responded, nodding slightly. "I have just been informed by GeneralHammond that we are to depart for the Alpha site tomorrow morning, to 'knock some sense' into the current students?"

"That's right," O'Neill replied, coughing slightly. "I've got the curriculum here from Major Stubbs – they want us to put a bit more life into the mission briefings by the sound of it. The kids must read them and think it's a bedtime story or something. We just have to tell them how much it can hurt in the process."

Teal'c nodded. "GeneralHammond – who also asked me to say 'hello' to you for him – suggested that it may be necessary to impart the required teachings by use of a _zat'n'ktel_."

This time his friend seemed to explode into a coughing fit.

"I trust that you do not also have a cold, O'Neill?"

"No, no, no... I, erm, just need some water," the Tau'ri replied somewhat hurriedly, manoeuvring his wheelchair toward the small water fountain in the corner. "Yeh, water... that's what I need."

Teal'c frowned slightly. Colonel O'Neill would have typically replied to a reference regarding 'newbies' and 'zats' sarcastically, particularly if he had been ordered to 'babysit' them. On the other hand, however, O'Neill might well be feeling a little 'out of sorts' following his rather embarrassing injury. He decided to alter the conversation a little.

"Which missions do you believe that it would be appropriate to discuss?"

O'Neill looked up, then shuffled a few of the papers on his desk. "Erm, well I have been reading through a lot of them and there's a few that seem relevant. There's been at least one infestation by a Goa'uld, so we could talk about the implications having to kill a friend; the odd virus that regresses your body back through 30,000 years' worth of evolution; arriving on a technologically primitive world and having a psychopathic hallucination that you're a god... Y'know I can see why they're having a hard time accepting all the weird stuff they might have to go through!! I certainly am..."

Teal'c contemplated O'Neill's words. He appeared sincere, only using a little of the sarcasm that was his verbal defence mechanism, and the Jaffa felt a degree of added respect for this man who could mention so frankly the death of his friend Kawalsky – which had occurred so soon after his own alliance with the Tau'ri.

"It is indeed a unusual way of life when compared with that of a typical Tau'ri," he agreed out loud. "However have these recruits not been advised of the parameters of SGC missions?"

O'Neill looked up, a strange look in his eyes. Teal'c had seen this man take many foreign concepts and revelations in his stride, thinking only of the strategic and tactical implications rather than how unbelievable they might be when contrasted against his previous experience – even though he might outwardly rebel by way of his famous sarcasm. This was the quality that made him such an excellent example for all SG team members, but now Teal'c saw both distress and... fear... in this man's eyes. Perhaps he sought to solve this problem by empathising with a theoretical novice soldier.

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'seeing is believing'?" O'Neill asked, after a moment of awkward silence. "These kids have been through basic training and they've come out on top – otherwise they wouldn't be here – but aside from being able to shoot and take orders under pressure, what do they really know? Some of them might have seen a little action in the Balkans, but other than that they have... I don't know... Tom Clancy novels and Playstation to thank for their education!"

"Then perhaps we should introduce some 'shock tactics', as GeneralHammond suggested?"

"Yeh, shooting them – like that'll do anything other than get us in trouble with Dr Fraiser," The Colonel gave a weak laugh. "Though showing them your symbiote might give them the surprise of their lives!"

Teal'c nodded his agreement, although he observed that O'Neill had referred to his _prim'tah_ as 'your symbiote' rather than the more common 'Junior'. "I would have no objections to demonstrating any of the skills or attributes that are common to the hostile Jaffa that these men and women may encounter in the field, O'Neill. In addition the sight of a fully armoured Jaffa has a certain psychological impact, therefore it may be fitting for me to conduct practical exercises while dressed as such."

O'Neill merely nodded, his eyes still containing that unusual look of anxiety. He did not reply.

"Would you like some more water, O'Neill?"

"Huh?" The man blinked, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "No, er, sorry – I was just thinking back to the first time I, erm, met a fully armoured Jaffa."

"I believe you shot him with little hesitation, O'Neill."

"I did?!" This startled reaction was unexpected. "I mean, yes I did – well, I'm sure there was some hesitation, just enough to, erm, size him up, y'know?"

Just then the phone rang, breaking what had become an unduly awkward conversation. Teal'c could not remember when he had last heard Colonel O'Neill fumble for words with such apparent uneasiness.

"Excuse me a moment?" The man asked unnecessarily as he picked up the receiver. "Erm, Colonel O'Neill?"

Teal'c could hear Daniel Jackson on the other end of the telephone, asking if O'Neill could come to his office and to bring himself, should they be together.

O'Neill, forgetting that Teal'c had the particularly good hearing of a Jaffa, relayed this and received a nod of assent. "Yeh sure, Daniel. We'll be there in a moment." The receiver went down with a small rattle and O'Neill turned back to the Jaffa with what now appeared to be relief in his expression. "I guess we'll, erm, have to sort the rest of this out later then, ok?"

"Indeed, O'Neill – we still have the remainder of this afternoon before we are due in Colorado Springs," Teal'c replied calmly as he stood up.

"Colorado Springs?! What are we going there for?"

Teal'c raised his trademark eyebrow in surprise. "To see 'Return of the Jedi', naturally. You purchased the tickets yourself and left them in my quarters with a suggestion that the team might enjoy some 'R&R'."

"Oh!" The Colonel's shoulders sagged, as though a burden of tension had been relieved. "Is that all? Movies I can handle – sorry, Tee-uk –"there it was again, a slight 'hiccup' in his pronunciation... "- I bought the tickets a few days ago and forgot."

"Apology accepted." Teal'c remained concerned about O'Neill's manner, however looking down at his good friend in this wheelchair caused him to consider the possibility that O'Neill might in fact be suffering from an imposed feeling of vulnerability. He resolved to not interfere unless asked to, or unless more severe grounds for concern were revealed.

The wheelchair-bound Tau'ri, on the other hand, had reached the door and had successfully opened it despite his temporary disability.

"Would you mind giving me a push down to Daniel's?" He asked, smiling at last. Then, as Teal'c grabbed the handles and propelled them both into the corridor, he commented – "I guess we'd better make sure that Carter and Daniel known about this little excursion as well, don't you think."

"That would be wise, O'Neill," Teal'c replied, suddenly realising that he had never heard O'Neill use the word 'excursion' before.


	13. Tina's Trouble

Disclaimer: Still not mine, and unless there is a miracle in the space-time continuum (also known as 'winning the lottery') it never will be.

Reviewers: thanks for all the comments, especially constructive criticism! Your treat of the day is a Mini M&Ms brownie, cos thems is yummy :)

* * *

**September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

Cristina Martinez-O'Farrell, PhD (Computer Architecture) watched the man named Colonel O'Neill warily and decided that she couldn't trust him further than she could throw him – and that wasn't far. He might look like Sam Beckett, but so far she couldn't see any other trace of similarity between them. He moved in a completely different way, his speech patterns and facial expressions were different, and – most importantly – he'd threatened to kill Al.

Ziggy's terms for Jack's release had been that all doors to the surface from Level -10 of the Stallions Gate Complex remained locked, and that he was only permitted access to the Control Room and Imaging Chamber in addition to the Waiting Room. Tina herself, as well as Gooshie and Al, were allowed normal access to the rest of the floor, but no-one else within Project Quantum Leap – other than Donna Alessi, Sam's wife (who, thank God, was hosting a lecture series at MIT today) – would be permitted to enter these three rooms while Jack was 'out'. Not only this, but Jack was allowed to look through Ziggy's databanks – and all in return for a small game of "Let's Pretend" later on.

All in all Tina thought this arrangement was far too comfortable for their unwelcome guest, and she scowled as she watched Al trying to show Jack how to use the search controls. It looked like the Air Force bozo had never seen a touch-screen computer before, even it he did seem to work in another top-secret nuclear bunker. She was more pissed with Al though – only a couple of hours ago she'd been freaking out because this trained killer had been holding her boyfriend hostage, and now they were swapping jokes over a cup of coffee as if nothing had happened!

"Hey Tina!" Al called suddenly. "Would you mind bringing up our file on Kinsey a second? Y'know, the one with all his evil field notes and submissions on this place?"

"What, you mean you have access to that kind of stuff?" Jack interjected, his face incredulous.

Al coughed softly. "Well kinda... I have a good friend in the Capitol who feeds me information from time to time – and Ziggy has clearance to all kinds of good stuff by herself."

"Yes, it's wonderful what a bit of bedroom golf can do for national security..." Tina muttered bitterly, then took a deep breath as Al glared in her direction.

She wasn't a jealous person by nature, but Al's contact in the Capitol was an ex-girlfriend who evidently wanted more. He'd had an affair with her not so long ago, and kept in touch frequently enough to extract information 'and nothing else!' – or so he said. The excuse had been that Tina had slept with Senator Weitzman – Kinsey's predecessor – for similarly 'professional' reasons, and that the new incumbent wasn't nearly as open to the idea of pillow talk. Tina, on the other hand, still found that while she loved Al and had been with him for several years, she didn't trust him explicitly. The man had been through at least five wives plus who knows how many girlfriends, and half the reason that she'd slept with Gooshie was to get back at Al for yet another 'bit on the side'. It had slightly backfired though, if Gooshie's continual puppy-dog eyes were anything to go by, plus seeing every day made life in the Control Room just that little more stressful. Then again she didn't get out as much as Al did, so her choices had been limited.

"The folder is on the G drive Al, you can open it yourself," she continued, wondering if her inconsiderate lover ever remembered that despite her apparent dizziness she did hold a doctorate _and_ kept the hardware running in this place. She knew that many people thought she was a bimbo despite her high IQ, but either way she definitely was _not _a PA. "Look under Administration, Funding, Appropriations, Correspondence, Kinsey."

It was time for a chai latte, she decided – and maybe a brownie. Low fat version. Oh to hell with it, double chocolate with frosting if she could get it – she was in a bad mood and comfort food was the only cure... even if it was temporary. Plus there would probably be the satisfaction of finding Al and his new best friend hunting for the same file when she got back. That is, they would be unless they were brave enough to rouse Ziggy and Gooshie (who was still recovering from his moment in the Imaging Chamber) from their research into Jack's home territory – something that the other pair had tactfully chosen to do in relative isolation, at the other end of the Control Room.

Turning her heel on a gaping Admiral, she exited the Control Room and headed for the break room. The canteen, unfortunately, was on Level –5 and therefore out of bounds during the lockdown, but the break room usually had a few caffeine-related goodies to power the project's researchers. For someone like Tina – who worked with a cybernetic female and a couple of males who just couldn't understand – the break room was her equivalent of a meditation corner. It also doubled as a gossip centre, almost matching the influence of the smoking alcove just outside the main doors of the complex. Ziggy wasn't the only one to enforce a no smoking ban, though she was probably the only omnipresent controller in the building. A nicotine-addict couldn't even get away with a quick drag next to a ventilation duct around here.

Luckily there were still a couple of muffins in the basket today, Tina noticed, probably because most of the female researchers were trying out the Atkins diet. No brownies, but she could live with that. The downside was that there were two other people in the break room between her and the muffins, as well as the kettle, and from the way their eyes lit up when she entered they were on a mission. Eleanor McGann and her sidekick Melanie Jones were on secondment from Annapolis to gain some research experience and add credits towards their Masters, but their team leader had already reported them as lacking in concentration. As one might expect from the Navy they weren't stupid, but they were extremely annoying – always on the hunt for a juicy bone... and Tina couldn't help but think that she was it. Normally she loved to gossip with 'normal people', but today was already a bad day.

"Hi, Dr Martinez-O'Farrell!" They chorused innocently, filling the greeting with all the phony surprise of a pair of cheerleaders lying in wait for a nerd who might agree to do their homework.

"Hello girls, taking a break are we?" Tina replied sternly, hoping that they would take the hint and leave her alone.

Eleanor nodded, smiling. "Yes Doctor, we're just waiting for the kettle to boil. Can I get you a drink?"

"A chai latte, perhaps?" Melanie contributed, reaching into the cupboard. "We weren't sure whether to open this new packet since we're lowly interns, but since you're here as well..."

Tina decided to let the leading comment float in the air for a short while, then nodded. "Ok, my mug needs a wash though – it's the purple Dilbert mug."

She hoped that this would be enough of a put down to dissuade the two young women from whatever line of gossip they were after this time. It was not.

"So, Doctor – what's the reason for the lockdown?" Eleanor pressed, as Melanie obediently began washing the mug.

There's no such thing as a free lunch, Tina was reminded, then decided that these girls' return favour would be to not be reported to their superior for wasting her time. Simple gossip, like the identity of the gorgeous new messenger boy in the Complex, was one thing, but operational information was totally out of bounds.

"Ziggy has already told everyone what the problem is, Cadet, or didn't you hear?"

Tina's words were emphasised by a cold stare that took in both young women. She had enough work to deal with – let alone this O'Neill situation – without having to dodge puerile angling for gossip from these two. Technically she knew they were Midshipmen, but then neither had graduated from the Naval Academy just yet and she was high enough up the Project food chain to get away with the insult, even if she was a civilian. Judging by the look in Eleanor's eyes, she hadn't learnt this just yet.

"Yes ma'am, but we're all still a little confused. I mean why are we running a security drill for so long? Surely all the locks and systems have proven themselves by now?"

Some people just couldn't take a hint, Tina decided as she accepted her hot drink from Melanie, whose face also wore an ingratiating smile. Ah yes, she remembered when she saw Melanie's yellow tinged fingers, they were also smokers.

"Let me spell this out for you girls more clearly then. If we ever need to use the lockdown system in a real situation, it is unlikely to be resolved particularly quickly. This drill is to test how well the locks will operate over a longer period of time, and to pick up any residual glitches while we're safe. It is also a test of how well our staff can operate under such conditions. Understood?" Tina repeated Ziggy's words precisely, then reached around to take the last double chocolate muffin. "And you can tell all the smokers out there that Ziggy will not be releasing the external locks to Project personnel until later this evening. Thank you for the chai, Melanie."

And with that she set off back down the hall, muttering inwardly about uppity temps who were lucky enough to not be emotionally involved with this project and who only thought about where the next cancer stick was coming from. They could report her if they liked, but this Project was far enough away from the bureaucracy of the Navy that few of the military personnel wore uniforms and most of the permanent staff were civilian consultants like herself, and they – the lowly interns – had been getting in her way, damn it! She could always report them to Al...

Speaking of whom he was the reason for her bad mood in the first place, plus that Colonel. _Grrrr..._she growled mentally, clutching her chai with a firm resolve. They'd better not ask her to pull a file for them again, the ignorant ingrates...

"Tina! Where'd you go doll?"

"The break room – and where's your new best bud?" Tina replied, pouting. He needed to know that she was mad, and took a bite of the muffin without offering him some to prove it.

"The little boys' room," Al chuckled, then cocked his head to one side and looked straight at her. Maybe he was picking up the irritation vibes after all. "Tina, don't worry hun. I know he's not Sam. We do seem to get on pretty well though –"

"Yeh, when he's not holding broken glass at your throat!" She hadn't meant to yell, but the startled look from Gooshie showed she'd made more noise than intended. "Al, he was threatening to kill you. I was worried. He's still here, and I'm still worried."

"About what?"

Jack couldn't have re-entered the room at a worse moment, looking so like Sam and yet being – in Tina's mind at least – his complete antithesis. The Leapee looked like he'd just been through something horrible himself, but she was in no mood to acknowledge that. On the other hand after a quick glance at Al, she decided that now wasn't the time to yell at the Colonel. It was still Al's turn to bear the brunt of her anger.

"About the other staff. None of them known what's really going on, nor that a Senator is about to appear, and I just got accosted by a pair of interns who aren't buying the drill story."

"Oh," the Sam look-a-like replied. "Well that's always the problem with a base full of geniuses – they think way too much."

Al looked like he was trying desperately not to laugh, as Tina and Gooshie – who had now left Ziggy to her searches and rejoined the main group – glowered angrily. Sarcastic comments were definitely not the way to make friends around here, and Al's number one spot on Tina's vengeance list became shaky.

"What are you saying, Colonel?" Tina snarled, deciding that maybe she could take on both Al and Jack at the same time. She was armed with chai and a chocolate muffin after all. "That we should just take happy pills and go home?"

Jack didn't seem to take any notice of her fury, which enraged her even further. "No, no, nothing like that, peaches – just that smart people think too much. Especially on military bases. Stupid people like me can't keep up, but then we're just here for decoration."

Wisely, Al stepped in at this point. Even he knew that as flighty as Tina was, she didn't take kindly to nicknames like 'peaches' – at least not outside the bedroom. "Calm down guys, this isn't the time. Jack, you have to understand that this isn't really a military base. Do you see any uniforms? The only part of this complex that holds real soldiers is the lobby, and the rest of it is a research centre full of scientists who are very very good at their job. Some of them may technically be military, but their job is still the science. Thinking is what they do!"

"Hmph," Jack muttered. "Well this is the loosest ship I've ever seen. No offence Al, but I work with a bunch of scientists too and when we say jump, they jump. Except Felger. And maybe Daniel... But either way it shouldn't concern them why you're holding a drill. A drill's a drill, even when it isn't. But that's just my stupid opinion."

The last was clearly added as an afterthought for her benefit, Tina decided, especially since he said it while staring right at her. How dare he!

"Sorry Colonel, did you say Felger?" Gooshie interrupted, probably not realising that he had interrupted what might have been Tina's biggest diatribe against military small-mindedness. At a hesitant nod from Jack, he continued. "Not Jay Felger?"

"Um..." Jack's eyes flickered this way and that, clearly showing some kind of inner second-guessing. "Well, yeh – I think that's his name. Smart, young-ish mad scientist kinda guy, great with computer bugs and that, but a little obsessive in a personal way if you know what I mean?"

"Yes! He's my nephew!"

Tina quickly held her breath to stop herself from laughing. From Al's expression he was doing the same thing. She didn't know what she found funnier – Jack's goldfish impression or Gooshie's ecstatic yet naïve smile. It sounded like this Jay Felger guy was a younger clone of Gooshie – and based on previous experience, Gooshie probably hadn't even heard Jack's semi-insulting tone of voice. It was also fun to watch Jack squirm as he realised that he might have mortally offended the Chief Programmer.

"Erm, right... well... oh crap..." Jack stammered. "Um... nice kid."

An overly smug giggle escaped from Tina as Jack slowly turned to Al with what could only be a silent plea for help. Al was still trying desperately not to laugh, hesitated just long enough to let Gooshie get another word in.

"How is he doing Colonel? You see, his mother is my elder sister and she rarely hears from him these..."

"Gooshie!" Al interrupted, still fighting off a grin but commanding nonetheless. "I don't think Jack wants to swap family gossip right now. We still have a Senator to distract and a friend to save, remember?"

The Chief Programmer nodded reluctantly, and Tina almost felt sorry for him. It wasn't often that Al had to pull rank, but she knew firsthand that it hurt when a man who was generally a good friend brought them all crashing down to reality with a bark of military authority.

"Ok," Al stated firmly, though with a short little cough that might be disguising a chuckle. "Back to business. Jack, have you decided who to 'be' for our man Kinsey yet?"

"Well from my experience, Kinsey doesn't care much for underdogs and heads straight for whoever he thinks is directly to blame for the so-called money-wasting," Jack declared, and much as she still didn't like him Tina had to agree. "Either that or whoever can get him closer to the Oval Office."

Al nodded. "Yeh, the bastard generally comes straight at me like a bee to a honey pot. He would have loved to see this project closed down a long time ago, or at the very least send through a bunch more Leapers to 'maximise results'. Hah!"

"Precisely," Gooshie added. "He doesn't seem to care that the Project's creator is effectively lost in time and that we would be equally unable to bring any further Leapers home."

"Danger, Will Robinson!" Jack quipped, then took in Gooshie's blank look. "Lost in Space? Old sci-fi series with dodgy sets and corny lines? Never mind..."

Tina observed this exchange with barely hidden irritation. "Anyone would think that you watched too much tv, Colonel..." Al glared so she stopped, then crossed her arms and decided to pout. That always got Al on her side. He glared some more. Damn, it wasn't going to work this time. "So who're you going to be?"

"The only person I'm any good at, of course!" Jack announced, that harried look from before back in his eyes. "Me!"

Tina rolled her eyes. "Thank god for masculine imagination..."

"No seriously," Jack continued earnestly. "For starters I'm a crap actor. I do know a few federal money-wasters, but I'd make a pretty poor effort at imitating them. Ok, maybe if I pretended to be them at age 5 it wouldn't be so hard, but if your friend Sam changed anything in their lives so early on there could have to be a fairly drastic historical outcome, right?" Al nodded slowly. "So if he walked out of here and kept checking up on that person for weeks and nothing had changed, he'd probably come back in an even worse mood. Right?"

"Normally people don't notice when history changes like that," Tina butted in condescendingly. "It just happens, and most of the time the only record we have is Ziggy's data banks."

"Yeh, but if he thought that Dr Beckett leapt into Admiral Calavicci here at age 5 to get him interested in motorcycles instead of, I dunno, ships, the Admiral might not have grown up to be a royal pain in his butt," Jack explained, equally condescendingly. "If he waits a few weeks and Al's still here, he'll wonder if the Leap made any real difference at all."

Tina's eyes narrowed. In principle he was almost right, but there were some gaping holes in his argument – plus she didn't like being shown up by people she didn't like. "If there is a change in history, no-one ever notices it Colonel. Like I said: it just happens. Normally it only takes a few days to complete a Leap, then no-one remembers much of anything apart from us."

"Why do you think being yourself would work, Jack?" Al asked, glaring at Tina. She stuck her tongue out in return.

The Colonel/Sam look-a-like leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms with satisfaction, a benevolent smile of one-upmanship on his face. "Because it's close enough to now that he couldn't look for a drastic change, and I think he'd love the chance to think that he can manipulate my life, even if it's through you."

"Um... Don't get me wrong Jack," Al interjected. "But if you pretend to be yourself and he knows you've just died, we're not going to be able to think of a better reason for Sam to Leap into you than to stop that death from happening. Then he won't be so happy and we're back to square one!"

"Ah but Al, I never said I'd be me _right now_."

Suddenly Tina's intuition antennae tingled and she realised why he'd looked so stressed earlier when he'd entered, and then when they'd begun probing him for this information.

"Charlie..." she whispered, a thread of understanding sneaking its way through her dislike.

Jack nodded sadly. "Bingo."

"Sorry for asking the same question, but how will that make a difference?" Al cut in once more.

Gooshie, on the other hand, had swivelled back to one of the monitors and was tapping away furiously. "Actually Al, it would make a huge difference to Colonel O'Neill's life – and Ziggy postulates that the project the Colonel works with may not exist?!" He looked up, confused. "I don't understand, and she won't tell me why, but she thinks that you are integral to this project Colonel."

Tina could see why Gooshie was confused. As far as they knew Jack wasn't the man in charge – that was some guy called General Hammond – and it was pretty unusual for anything to be built around its second-in-command. Ziggy must have found out more and wasn't letting on.

"Cheers for the compliment, Z," Jack replied quietly. "Ha! I don't know how whether she's right, but the project did have a tough time getting off the ground. The, erm... initial findings were made before World War 2, but there wasn't any real funding until the early 90s." He paused, and Tina figured that he must be wondering how to explain things without giving too much away. "Let's just say that the funding was just for research. In 1996 they, erm, needed to put things into practice – a bit like your friend Dr Beckett. It... oh hell, it was a suicide mission, and I was the only one suicidal enough to lead it."

The last sentence came out in a rush and he avoided looking at anyone in the room.

"Jack, you don't have to explain if you don't want to," Al sympathised. "And if this is as tough as it looks we can come up with another plan for dealing with Kinsey."

The Colonel shook his head. "The first thing that you thought of when I popped up was that it was to stop... Charlie... from dying." His eyes were full of emotion now, but he ploughed on. "Kinsey, bastard that he is, knows all about the fact that I went through some... troubled times... right afterward. I drank... a lot... and I really was considering suicide y'know... I even resigned my commission... but then this mission came along and I thought why not, at least this way I could leave Sara with a big fat life insurance check –" He fell silent for a moment, then looked at Al. "Charlie died, I didn't, and she divorced me, but I guess you already know that, huh?"

Al just nodded, and Tina remembered that Sam had helped him climb out of his own alcoholic bottleneck. She didn't think he'd ever thought about killing himself though.

Jack smiled weakly. "I know, I don't have to tell you all this but for some reason I feel like it. I'm not exactly likely to meet you guys ever again eh?" He snorted. "If Kinsey really does want to shut you down I want you to know that I understand the old bugger well enough to give him a sniff of the honey pot. My point is this – without that first suicide mission, the project I work on probably wouldn't exist and so it wouldn't be burning a $7.4 billion hole in Kinsey's pockets every year. He might thank Project Quantum Leap for saving him money elsewhere by keeping it running."

It was Gooshie's turn to add something to the mix. "From our experience of him, you could be right Colonel. Then, once Sam has completed his mission, we will be in a new timeline and the only record of this Leap will be within Ziggy. If Colonel O'Neill doesn't die, Sam won't have Leaped into him and we would never have met him. It follows that Senator Kinsey would not have made this visit in the new timeline and will not remember a thing."

Jack gaped, his face blank, and once more Tina found it hard not to giggle. "That's what I've been trying to tell you Jack - it happens every time. Or not, as the case may be!"

Gooshie laughed with her this time. Inside jokes were great when they excluded disbelieving intruders, she decided.

"So what are we worrying about all this for then?" Jack muttered, probably wondering whether he poured his heart out for nothing.

Unexpectedly, Ziggy replied. "Because Senator Robert Kinsey is a man of disturbing influence. He could potentially disrupt the completion of this Leap and the continuing attempt to bring Dr Beckett home by cutting funding or limiting my resources. As such, we must ensure that he leaves this Project in some way satisfied."

"English for the stupid people? Nice short words?"

"If Kinsey leaves here thinking that we're a waste of space, he'll shut us down before we can make proper contact with Sam and you'll be stuck in this time until he either figures it out for himself or dies in your place," Al replied resignedly. "We have to put on a good show or we're up shit creek without a paddle."

Jack threw his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. "For crying out loud! It doesn't seem to matter where I am, I still need another brain to keep up! Ok, I'll just stick with what I said and won't concentrate too hard on the time-blowing consequences in case I wind myself up into a knot. When Bobby boy arrives I will be my normal sarcastic self, because that's how I've always been, and I'll put on a song and dance so he thinks it's me before, erm... well, you know."

Tina picked up the remainder of her muffin and took another bite, satisfied that the annoying Colonel had finally seen the light. She still didn't like him much, even if he had been through a lot, but then as Gooshie said – if they did this right he should start cooperating so they could find Sam, and in a few days she wouldn't remember him anyway.

"Hey!" Jack's voice called, and she turned her head to see him staring at her – no, her muffin. "Pleeeeeease tell me there's some food around here?"

Smirking, Tina returned to her console and finished off the muffin. He caused the lockdown with his stupid glass-wielding stunt, so if he wanted something to eat he could share Al's lunch.


	14. Ghost Writing

Disclaimer: would I be sat in this office if I owned Stargate or Quantum Leap? I don't think so...

Reviewers: murky buckets! Thanks again, and here is your treat of the day (the first non-food item) – a motorcycle ride through the gorgeous Dorset countryside on a sunny September afternoon... Mmmmm... ultimate pleasure... That's where most of my mind is anyway, though as mentioned above I'm actually stuck in a very boring little office!

P.S. It will eventually be revealed that Jack is actually Sam B, but _not yet!!_ The seeds have been planted, please allow them a chance to germinate – SG1 are brainy all right, but Sam is a smart cookie too and he's been a human chameleon for a fair while now. Give the man a gold star :)

* * *

**Stargate Command – 20th September 1998**

Sam looked at the paper in Daniel's hands with a sinking feeling in his gut. What an idiot he'd been! There in front of two of 'his' closest colleagues was proof positive that all was not right in the SGC – Sam's keywords to Gooshie, written in his own handwriting, there in bold marker pen for all to see. Crinkled up, since he'd thrown it in the bin when Daniel had woken up, but he'd forgotten one of the primary rules of research: nothing is ever really thrown away. The archaeologist had probably remembered a making scribble during his brainstorming session last night, and dipped into the bin to take another look at it.

STARGATE

NAQUADAH

DR DANIEL JACKSON

SAMANTHA CARTER, DR?

"What do you think Jack?" Daniel asked, worriedly. "Have we got an intruder?"

Oh yeh, and you're looking right at him... "Um, I really don't know – do either of you recognise the handwriting?" Sam suggested, knowing that there was no chance that either he or Teal'c would. What an idiot he'd been.

"No O'Neill, I do not."

"If I did, I'd have told you by now."

"Ok then, neither do I – but then almost everyone here types everything on a computer these days, right?" It was lame, but most likely true. Biding time till he had a mind-blowingly genius idea was all he could think of right now.

"Yeh, but the MPs should have handwriting records somewhere," Daniel chipped in. "I remember having to write out 'the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog' a few times when I started working here. That and signatures – lots of signatures."

Teal'c concurred. "Indeed. I too was required to give such a sample when I had gained proficiency in using your alphabet."

"You're right," Sam agreed, feigning knowledge. It made sense, and was only a little more than normal banking security. Speaking of which, if anyone asked him his date of birth, home address, mother's maiden name, social security number or anything like that he was screwed. Oh boy, he thought suddenly, do the military have writing samples from me on record? His memory was swiss-cheesed, but it wasn't impossible. This mess was getting bigger by the minute.

"Right, so we could check that out. Any more ideas? Like, could it have been one of the cleaners maybe?" Sam replied, casting around his mind for another plausible explanation. He'd been Leaping far too long to make this kind of mistake – or so he had thought.

"No chance – Janey knows better than to touch my things. She only cleans where she can see a bare surface... and yes, I know there's not much of that so quit smirking Jack! I'm really worried here!"

Actually Sam had been smiling because he loved the fact that Daniel knew the cleaner's name. Chances were that most personnel ignored the poor girl, but Daniel was the kind of man who would go out of his way to make her feel welcome... with the added bonus that a friendly cleaner would protect his filing system rather than tidy it, of course!

"Sorry, Danny – " The nickname didn't seem to phase the scientist, so Sam decided to stick with it. "– so that rules out the cleaner. Janey. I don't suppose anyone else has been in here today?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. I've been in here for most of the day, and the only other person who came to see me was you Jack, when you woke me up."

"Have you communicated your concerns to the Marine guards in this sector, DanielJackson?" Teal'c intoned. He gave Sam a slight case of the creeps, but then it wasn't every day that you met your first real life alien. Conflicting emotions and interests were warring inside him, yelling that he needed to study everything he could about this 'Jaffa' – preferably at a safe distance though, since he didn't think that his roundhouse kick would be much use against an angry warrior. That and he was in a wheelchair.

"No, not yet," Daniel sighed. "They'd make more mess in here than Jack on a bad day. That and I figured that most of our intruders are aliens who don't use the English language, let alone our alphabet. I mean it could be an invisible Furling for all I know, but it's highly unlikely – this thing looks more like a sign for an airport arrivals zone!"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "Your argument would not apply to any Tau'ri spies."

"Give the guy a break, T," Sam interrupted. He didn't want to Daniel to any flak for something that was his fault, though he couldn't for the life of him see how to avoid it in the long term. "Did you call us as soon as you found it, Daniel?"

The other man nodded. "It seemed like the best thing to do. Ok so maybe it wasn't the best thing to do, it was the easiest thing to do."

"Right, and we got down here as soon as we could. Now we have to figure out what to do next."

"The best course of action would be to alert base security and ascertain who has left this floor since this morning," Teal'c stated. "Handwriting tests could then be administered to any suspects."

Way to go for making a total hash of the situation! Sam chided himself. This could easily get out of hand...

"Whoa there partner!" He commented unceremoniously. "Do we need to go that far just yet?" Both pairs of eyes turned to him, Daniel looking amazed and Teal'c... looking like Teal'c. Not a normal Jack sort of comment then, he concluded. "Shouldn't we figure out how bad the threat is before we slam down the hatches?"

It was weak, and he knew it, but Daniel seemed to like the idea.

"I guess so, I mean I don't know why someone would write these words down in the first place. They're linked, of course, but not enough to give any real information." The archaeologist scratched the back of his head, probably a nervous habit. "Perhaps in the outside world, but no... there's a lot more valuable information in here that an intruder could take instead of a couple of mystery words and some names. Plus they left the words behind."

This was good, Sam decided, he could roll with this line of thinking. Maybe it could get them out of the need for a security sweep... because he wasn't likely to be able to mimic Jack's handwriting.

"Ok, so is there anything missing in here?" he asked innocently, thinking that it might take Daniel a fair while to check everything in this room.

Unfortunately Teal'c had the same thought. "O'Neill, by the time that DanielJackson has completed a search of his office, the thief may have escaped."

"No!" Daniel cut in hurriedly. "I mean, no, there's no need Teal'c – this place may look like a pigsty at times but I do know where everything is. We, erm, wouldn't want to worry General Hammond without having the right information now would we?"

Sam nodded sagely. "Good point Daniel. But how about you check with the guards anyhow, Teal'c? I came by at 11am, and you haven't left since then have you Daniel? I didn't think so... we're going to have to see who was on guard this morning, while we were in the briefing room – maybe even while Daniel was asleep."

This tactic was designed to make Teal'c feel needed and to get him out of the way at all costs – the guards would have changed at least once today, so Sam guessed that the big Jaffa would need at least 15 minutes to locate the roster and track down his target Marines. Hopefully that would be enough to downgrade the threat to 'miniscule', and hopefully Teal'c wouldn't realise that he was being sidelined. Then again, this base did have a bad (and warranted) case of paranoia.

"If that is what you believe is best, O'Neill," was Teal'c's answer. He didn't seem altogether convinced, but then Sam was having a lot of trouble reading him. He was very stoic... all the time... definitely one to be careful around.

"I do," he confirmed, wishing that he was as confident as he sounded. "We need as many facts as possible before we disrupt the base."

Sam couldn't remember a time when he'd been caught out yet, but then he'd never been in a place where people had already been exposed to strange phenomena before. When your job was to explore the galaxy and fight hostile aliens via a giant doughnut that controlled wormholes (need to see, need to see, need to see), time travel might not be such a huge leap of the imagination.

Teal'c – apparently satisfied, but maybe just following orders – bowed slightly and headed out of the room. "I will return shortly."

Sam tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, then turned to Daniel. "Let's get looking!" Daniel, on the other hand, was staring at him quizzically. Oh no, maybe he'd been un-Jack-like enough to confuse both of them. Damage control required. "Come on, we need to find out if you've had anything stolen, remember? Have a good look around, but don't shift anything around too much ok – I only want to make sure that if we're going to have a base-wide emergency, it's going to be justified. We have to leave as much in tact as possible though, because if something has been taken though we'll need all the fingerprints we can get."

Daniel replied, but Sam didn't catch a word of it. He had realised that fingerprints might catch him out too – this was not good...

"Jack?"

Huh? "Oh, sorry Daniel – I was, erm, just mapping out a possible course of action. What's up?"

The archaeologist looked through his glasses steadily, giving Sam the impression that he was a bug on a microscope slide. He really hoped he wasn't about to get dissected. This mission was really getting to him – but maybe that was partly because he still hadn't heard anything from Al, and Gooshie's transmission had been all but useless to him.

"Are you ok, Jack?" Daniel asked, presumably discarding his previous line and getting straight to the point.

"Who me?" Sam laughed sarcastically, gesturing toward the wheelchair he was in. Maybe that would knock his new friend off the track. "I've been better!"

"Hmmm..." came the reply. "Well you just sit tight. No Jack, please, just stay where you are – it's not like you know what order I have things in anyway, so you poking around would just make things worse."

Sam raised his hands in surrender. This was perfect – no more Beckett fingerprints to pollute the room. "Maybe I should take another look at that paper for you?" Daniel nodded absently.

"Yeh sure Jack, whatever you think might be helpful, just don't mess up my desk!"

The man in the wheelchair smiled. Daniel's voice had already taken on the preoccupied air of a scientist with a project, and since he thought that someone might have taken something that was his the 'trance' would be all the more intense. Strictly speaking it would have been US Government property, but that was a mere technicality!

Picking up the offending paper by the edges, Sam fought the urge to rip it into tiny pieces. That would just make things worse, he told himself, and they were bad enough as it was. He decided to wipe the whole sheet with his sleeve instead, checking that Daniel wasn't looking first. At least that should smudge the sample...

How could he be so stupid? If there was one place that he was going to get caught, this would be it – why did he have to go and make it worse? But he knew why: usually Al tipped him off before he got round to making stupid mistakes, and this time he was flying blind. He had been frantic to get a message across to Gooshie, but he hadn't gotten any clues in return and the fact that he hadn't seen a hologram since that one faltering attempt told him that something was seriously wrong back at Stallions Gate. There couldn't have been a worse time for a communications breakdown. With any luck the team would have a better chance of 'tuning in' to him tonight when SG1 visited the cinema, Sam hoped, desperately praying that the consequences of his monumental slip would not get in the way of a trip to the surface.

"Hey Jack," Daniel called out. "How about you look at my computer and see if anyone accessed files between say 7am and 11am? They might have printed something and taken it away with them."

A good idea, but more chance for Beckett fingerprints... "Are you sure that's a good idea from here, Daniel? I might wreck any evidence on the keyboard."

"Don't be daft Jack, I've already been using the computer since they would have come in. There won't be any evidence to save other than the electronic record."

The man had a point, but how to get out of this hole? "Well it would be better to track it from your login, right?"

"I suppose so, and?"

"You've been away from the computer for so long that it's logged you out." A short-term ploy – Daniel looked like he was in the middle of a pile of papers, so it might take him a while to extract himself. Maybe he'd have time to...

"Ok, my password is –"

"Hold it right there!" Sam cried out. "I do _not_ want to know your password, Daniel. Security _and_ IT would have my guts for garters. Come over here and type it in yourself."

A bundle of what could only be alien curses drifted from the bookcases to the desk.

"What language is that?" Sam asked, curious.

"Abydonian, you should recognise it by now," Daniel muttered as he stomped back to the desk, automatically brushing his fingers about the frame of Sha're's photo. She might not be here, but Daniel certainly kept her memory alive, Sam realised.

Sam reversed away from the desk so that his 'colleague' could reach the keyboard and thought hard. He still couldn't see a way out of this mess and was he running out of ideas. Apart from the paper no one was going to find any evidence, but from what he could tell the guys in charge of this place weren't going to let that stand in the way of a minor manhunt. It was a security breach after all, so he might be better off letting the Marines go over the place with a fine-toothed comb and standing back from the action. That was what a Colonel would do, wasn't it? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that if he stayed in here any longer he was might give them more to go on, and he was in enough trouble as it was.

"I can't see that any files have been opened from this terminal while I was out or asleep, Jack," Daniel commented disappointedly. He looked toward the man he thought was his Colonel and shook his head. "Not unless they know more about computers than I do – IT would be able to check it more thoroughly though.

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Can you tell if anything's missing yet?"

"I haven't searched the whole place yet, obviously, but at a glance there's nothing out of place at all."

"Maybe we should bring in the big guns after all, Danny. Someone's been here, and it's going to take another kind of expert to find out who," Sam pointed out, hoping that there wasn't one within a few hundred miles. "Archaeology is one thing, forensics is another, and neither of us looks like Starsky & Hutch."

"They were on TV, Jack."

Daniel sounded reluctant, and Sam could understand why. An investigation team would take forever to make their way through this office, and he wouldn't be able to take a shred of work with him other than what was on the base's servers. No books, no notes, no nothing. It would be one hell of an inconvenience, and Sam hated the idea of putting a fellow scientist through that sort of disruption.

"My point exactly! Our only experience of police work is from TV, so we'd better let them get on with it. Besides, it's procedure."

The other man sighed heavily. "Y'know for a minute there I thought you were on my side for once." His face became hard and he looked away. "But no, Jack O'Neill always goes back to his beloved procedure. Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here, following rules and regulations all the time. Tenure wouldn't be this... this... restrictive!"

"Hold up there, Danny," Sam soothed quickly. He'd obviously put a step wrong there, yet again. "It's a pain, I know it is, but do you really want someone wandering around out there with some of your research? With proof that the Stargate exists? Not to mention aliens, because that in itself would vindicate the National Inquirer overnight..." he ended, trying to catch Daniel's eye.

"Yeh yeh, national security..." Daniel muttered. "Don't worry, I've heard it all before. I'll dial the Major Castleman right now, may as well get it over with."

Within moments a security team had arrived, saluting Sam on their way in. So much for downgrading the threat, he lamented. Teal'c returned with them looking a lot happier once they got to work, and there was also had a geneticist from one of the labs. Apparently she doubled as a forensic investigator and did a lot of the infirmary's blood tests, having worked with a CSI team sometime in her professional past.

Just my luck, thought Sam, watching her direct the Marines quickly and efficiently. I really hope she doesn't find anything.

"Dr Jackson?" Major Castleman demanded. "Is this the sheet of paper you mentioned?" He was holding it up, his hands gloved. Daniel nodded. "Thank you sir," the Marine officer continued brusquely as he placed it carefully into an evidence bag. "We'll be taking it away for evidence. Can you tell me who has touched it that you know of?"

"That'd be Jack, Teal'c and myself, though we all held it pretty much by the edges," Daniel replied. He seemed resigned to the fact that he was going to be expelled from his own little corner of the world for now. "The other people you might find in this room are Captain Carter, Jane Fleischmann – the cleaner – and of course other anthropological staff like Drs Rothman and Balinsky. I suppose you want us to give samples?"

"No sir, that won't be necessary. We'll be running any data through our records to eliminate the fingerprints we know, although that may not be enough to clear everyone of suspicion." The Major from Daniel to Sam and back again. "And neither of you saw anything unusual this morning, Dr Jackson, sir?"

"Me? No nothing at all," Sam assured him. Nothing other than a fuzzy hologram of a man from the future that is...

"Me neither, Major, unless you count Jack here in a wheelchair."

Major Castleman, like any good Marine, showed no sign of having a sense of humour. "I'm afraid that I will have to ask you to leave now. We'll contact you if we need any further assistance, or if we find anything. Where will you be?"

"Oh... well I'll probably be in Captain Carter's lab, Major, or maybe the library. Or Colonel O'Neill's office." Daniel faltered. "Don't... don't touch or move anything you don't have to, ok?" Major Castleman's expression didn't change. "Ok then, just don't break anything. Jack?"

Sam clapped Daniel on the back in sympathy. "Don't worry champ, it'll all be over soon." I wish... he added mentally. "Maybe seeing 'Return of the Jedi' later on will take your mind off it."

"We're going out tonight? I thought we were all meeting up for dinner?" Daniel looked confused.

"O'Neill purchased tickets some days ago and forgot, DanielJackson," Teal'c announced, rejoining them after being asked politely to stop interrogating the Marines about their investigation techniques. "It would appear that O'Malleys would be an ideal location for our evening meal."

Sam nodded dumbly. Whatever they said, it would follow a far better pattern than if he came up with one himself.

"Oh," Daniel blinked. "Well it sounds ok I guess – it's not like I can carry on working in here like I would normally, and Sam's been ordered to go home tonight... but will General Hammond still be ok with, um, 'Murray' here going out when we've had a potential security breach?"

Both Daniel and Teal'c looked askance at Sam, who suddenly twigged that 'Murray' must mean Teal'c. A strange choice of name, but better than using his real name in public he supposed.

"I'll, um... I'll check with him," Sam offered. "We deserve an outing though, don't you think?" The other two shrugged. "It's a date then. Where are you headed now, Daniel?"

"To Sam's lab, I think – I should be able to call up most of my files on her computer and carrying translating that weird phrase over there. It's 3 o'clock now so her next report is due to General Hammond in a couple of hours, it'd be nice to have something new to report," Daniel said. "Actually would you mind coming with me, Teal'c? We found this strange artefact on P3X-970 and neither Sam nor I can figure out what it's for. It belonged to a Goa'uld named Hemuset – do you know of her?"

"Only a little, DanielJackson, however I would be pleased to assist you in any way," Teal'c bowed slightly. "O'Neill, would you mind continuing with the lesson plan alone for a short while?"

"Oh! Sorry Jack!" Daniel apologised. "I completely forgot that you guys were heading to the Alpha site. And that's tomorrow morning isn't it? But –"

"Don't sweat it, Danny," Sam had to laugh. He was being handed a chance at isolation – however short-lived – on a plate, and there was no way that he was going to give that up. After the last half-hour that was a gift from the gods as far as he was concerned. Maybe he'd have a chance to write his will before being thrown in the brig, or whatever the Air Force equivalent was. "I'll be fine. Plus the best-laid plans are always wasted so we'll probably end up ripping the curriculum to shreds within an hour. All I really need to do is come up with some good shock tactics, whether it's from reports or practical exercises against Teal'c the nasty Jaffa."

Teal'c the nasty Jaffa raised an eyebrow, while Daniel smothered a grin.

"So," Sam ploughed on, avoiding Teal'c's stoic gaze – he really wished he could read that guy. "We've lost enough time already this afternoon, so it's time to get back to work people. Move out!"

"Do you want a hand to your office, Jack?" Daniel asked, ever helpful.

"Nope, just an open door if you would be so kind. See you in my office at half five?" Both nodded. "Don't forget to tell Carter as well, ok? See you soon, Teal'c, just whenever you're ready."

Out the door he rolled, praying for all that he was worth that God, time, fate or whatever would get him out of this mess. If Al or Gooshie managed to give him some pointers while they were above ground tonight he might last a bit longer, but unless he could complete his mission – whatever the hell that was – by tomorrow morning he had a feeling that he could be in even worse trouble. After all, Ziggy was designed to project neurological holograms through time and space _on Earth_ – the Alpha site was on a completely different planet.

* * *

NB. No there will not be any crossover with CSI... it was just a useful phrase, nothing more :)


	15. Politics

Disclaimer: even if I did own Stargate or Quantum Leap, I don't think anyone would believe me!

Reviewers: ta muchly – may you all have a packet of Minstrels for your troubles :)

P.S. I really didn't think this would turn out to be such a long story, it's taken on a life of it's own!!

And now, let the Kinsey-bashing commence!! I shall enjoy this very much and it will not stop with this one little visit to PQL, oh no... mwahahaha!!!

* * *

**September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

"I don't really have to, do I?"

"No Colonel, you do not, however it might enhance the effect that we are hoping to achieve."

"Yeh, well in that case I don't actually have to do anything until he gets here, do I?"

"We have already established that you do not _have_ to do anything, Colonel O'Neill."

Jack tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but the fact was that he had as much enthusiasm for this as he did for swimming in a frozen lake. Ziggy, on the other hand, was about as sympathetic as a chessboard that screamed 'checkmate!' from every angle. She wanted him to put that damned leotard back on, and he was going to fight it every step of the way. Or at least until the devil's representative on Earth got there.

He folded his arms and sat back on the bed, wondering if he was doing the right thing by helping these people. No one had asked any more questions about his current work since they'd hatched the plan to deal with Kinsey, but then he could see the impatience building up behind their eyes – especially Al's. It was understandable, he told himself, but then if anyone had ever tried probing this Dr Beckett guy for information about Quantum Leap he was willing to bet that the team would do anything in their power to stop the information from getting out. Then again, they weren't exactly rushing to interrogate him – unless this thing with Kinsey was a ploy. He would have to figure out a way of making sure... without giving in to the temptation to wring the good Senator's scrawny neck.

And what was he doing, opening up all those memories for a bunch of people he didn't know? Not even SG1 had heard much about his life before the Stargate, except maybe Daniel – but even then he took care to limit the information to drips and drabs. Jack O'Neill was not one for introspection, and he'd even turned away counselling – just like he had after his capture by the Iraqis. Of he had been tempted by thoughts of suicide as well, but after something like that... like the loss of a child... and a divorce. It was true what they said, no one should outlive their child – the fact that Sara had blamed him had just made it worse. Though she had been right. And what was he doing now? He was still shooting guns for a living, guns like the one that had killed Charlie!

A desperate moan escaped his lips. The floodgates were inching their way open bit by bit, after months of being ignored. Every time something reminded him of what he had lost, it became harder and harder to keep the tide of emotion from swamping him, and he was losing his grip already.

Jack sobbed out loud, covering his face with his hands. Why had he agreed to help these people? Why should he put himself through all of this again? Why should he risk his sanity for them? What was he even doing here? Maybe he did deserve death, and this was fate's way of telling him so – by reminding him over and over that his son was _gone_, and he was not.

He had no idea how long he laid there, tears alternately running and drying on his cheeks, harsh sobs racking his throat. It had been months since he'd last acknowledged his pain, and it felt terrible... Then, eventually, when he'd had a shower and was feeling somewhat human again, the door slid open. Al stepped into the Waiting Room in full dress uniform, and looking pretty damn uncomfortable about it. To Jack, recently traumatised and barely recovered, it was possibly the funniest sight he could imagine.

The first words out of Al's mouth were: "No sniggering, Jack – please?"

"Fine thing," Jack agreed, laughing inwardly and certain that his face was giving it away. Comic relief might get him through this after all. He was taken by the childish temptation to flick something brightly coloured at the clean, crisp whites – but there was nothing to hand, not even a coffee. Foiled. "All dressed up and nowhere to go but brown-nose alley?"

"Tell me about it," Al sighed, throwing Jack a sideways glance. Had he been watching, Jack wondered, or had Ziggy given him privacy from the prying eyes of the Control Room? "I don't know about you, but we don't have much firepower when it comes to pleading our case."

Jack grunted neutrally. So much for comic relief – more like back to business. He felt that light-headedness that came after a physically or emotionally draining experience, and he needed to find a way to return to his normal self. This was too borderline. Food would be great about now.

"Again and again I try to point out that though Sam only helps people one life at a time, the knock-on effects have to be enormous. Ziggy has some fuzzy facts to show for it, but as always it's a case of not helping anyone important enough for their liking. So much for the electorate eh?" Al continued, shaking his head. "And as soon as I mention something like the fact that Jackie Kennedy died in the original history, some idiot like Kinsey points out that they only proof of this is within Ziggy's database and therefore 'suspect'. I mean come on - where else is it meant to be? Seeing is believing as far as these guys are concerned."

Jack was silent, his leftover emotions gradually fading against the more practical, strategic thoughts that he lived by. The SGC had plenty of firepower in both weapons and justification for its existence as far as he was concerned – but that still didn't seem to help their 'case' when it came to the Appropriations Committee. He felt like assuring Al that he wasn't alone, but it would be hard to explain without the details.

"You could be right," he allowed, after a pause. "But I seem to remember Kinsey being fairly big on 'faith' once upon a time." Seeing Al's questioning expression, he continued. "As in faith in God that is – which is seeing _without_ believing, isn't it?"

Al didn't look convinced. "Go on?"

Jack frowned as he tried to remember the discussion about whether the Goa'uld would really send an all out attack against the Earth, as Daniel had predicted after his trip through the quantum mirror. Focus O'Neill, damn it.

"One of my team was explaining something to him – something big, bad and honkin' that we were trying very hard to stop from happening – and Kinsey replied that he didn't believe that God would allow this to happen, with or without us. Now I don't believe in gods as a rule, but Kinsey really seemed to think that God would make our... erm... little problem go away," Jack coughed, remembering his original frustration and concentrating hard. Edge one bad thing from his head with another, that was the way to do it.

"Sounds about right," Al muttered after a moment, rolling his eyes. "So he probably thinks that Sam's out there tinkering with God's plan, is that what you think?"

"Maybe so, but he's not above tinkering with it himself – believe you me, this man is a regular high priest of 'do as I say' if you get my meaning." Jack thumped downwards into the mattress. "He's not keen on secret projects unless they're under his personal thumb."

Al grimaced. "You're not exactly Leaping around, changing history though, are you? We're probably about as unusual as it gets."

"You said it," Jack replied, leaving the fact that he wasn't so sure unsaid. His head was clearing now, but he still felt a little weak.

The two men stood in silence for a few moments: Al polishing his buttons with a handkerchief, and Jack twiddling his thumbs. He still wasn't sure whether to believe all this time travel malarkey, but his gut was telling him that Al was telling the truth. His gut was even worse at lying than he was, usually. That wasn't the best reason for revealing classified information though – it was best to get over this hurdle, then see how the land lay. And it was a large hurdle...

"Y'know –," Al began.

"I –," Jack started.

"You first."

"No, go ahead – you first."

Al flicked the peak of his cap, his eyes on Jack – while Jack grinned sarcastically.

"Al, you'd better start talking or I'm going to head off to sleep sometime soon."

The older man shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Well, it's nothing really. I was just thinking that we always joke that the reason why Sam hasn't come home is that God, time, fate or whatever is keeping him out there until the job is done. We haven't been able to come up with a better reason, so it just stuck. It's ironic, that's all, because now the whole program could get shut down because of some politician who has _too much_ faith to believe this might be God working in a not-so mysterious way!"

"You're right, that is ironic," Jack snorted, thinking that his favourite out of those choices was either 'fate' or 'whatever' – and one or both had it in for him. Gods weren't his style any more, and time was just too damn confusing. Back to the point damn it, no more wallowing!

"Admiral," the disembodied voice of Ziggy announced, interrupting the conversation. "Senator Kinsey has just arrived at the lobby area. Dr Martinez-O'Farrell has agreed to bring him down to Level –10. Your presence is needed in the Control Room as soon as possible."

"Uh-huh?" Al mumbled, fiddling with his buttons again. "Just great."

Jack clenched his fists at the news that Kinsey was almost within swiping distance, smothering his anger as thoroughly as he could. If Al and his band of happy campers were right, this meeting might be wiped from the record in a few days, but they still had to get through those few days. Taking out Kinsey now might be disastrous, and if this wasn't a set-up he could not take the risk. Wincing, he felt that light-headedness returning, along with the pain. No! He had to make Kinsey believe that he was himself a couple of years ago, and remembering the agony would prove otherwise. But had it really only been two years? Two years since one single gunshot had ripped his world apart?? Since his family had...

No, it was two years. Two years since had first stepped through the Stargate and found something else to live for – maybe not as important to him personally, but certainly something else that mattered enough for him to risk life and limb day in, day out. That was what he was going to have to hold on to if he was going to get through this, and he hoped that whatever was in charge of these Leaps made this short. Short enough for him to not break down and cry. Short enough for him to not want to kill himself again. Short enough for him to not hit that crazy bastard Kinsey right where it hurt. Short enough to survive this goddamn roller coaster ride through hell.

"Al?" His eyes were shut, but he didn't think the other man had left the room yet.

"Yes, Jack?"

"If Kinsey wants to see me, can you make sure that it's short?"

Jack's eyes remained tightly closed. He didn't want Al to see him like this, and he needed some time to calm down again. This was harder than he'd originally realised.

"Of course. We can say that you've been mildly sedated if you want, because of the lockdown? That way we can tell him the rest of the story and you'll just need to smile and nod before 'falling asleep'."

Jack laughed mirthlessly. "Yeh, why not? He'd get a kick out of that, seeing me 'sedated'."

"Oh, and Jack?" Al asked over the sound of the door sliding open.

"Al?"

"I know you're not too keen on it, but I agree with Ziggy – it might help us out a bit if you put that leotard on again."

Jack shook his head in resignation and reluctantly opened his eyes. "Yeh, yeh... she said I didn't _have_ to though, if I didn't want to," he replied. Al raised an eyebrow, a gesture so reminiscent of Teal'c that Jack groaned. "Ok! Ok... but it'll come off again as soon as he leaves..."

The door slid shut to the sound of Al chuckling, and Jack was alone again. Alone with his thoughts. He looked at his feet, dangling off the bed, and prayed that those memories of a better time wouldn't get the best of him. The leotard was beside him on the bed, waiting for him to discard the comfortable normal clothes he'd been so kindly provided with earlier. Maybe the embarrassment would keep him in check.

He knew he didn't have to, but Jack wasn't comfortable changing in the Waiting Room per se. There were cameras in there, and he knew it – but at least the shower room had a door. It might have a camera too, but the illusion of privacy was there, and as he emerged a minute later had had an idea.

"Ziggy?"

It was a guess, but if Ziggy was advanced as they all claimed she could probably divert a small portion of her energies to answer him.

"Yes, Colonel?"

Bingo. "Is there CCTV in the Control Room, Ziggy?"

"Of course Colonel, recordings are made of each major area of this complex. It is standard practice."

He hoped that wasn't a put-down. It was standard practice for the SGC to record all lab activities, the Gate room, the briefing rooms and so on, but then most of Jack's service history had been in the field – not in command centres of any variety.

"Well Ziggy, I was wondering if you would be able to show me what was going on in there at the moment, now that Senator Kinsey has arrived," Jack asked, wondering if computers responded to normal methods of persuasion. "I wouldn't want to contradict Admiral Calavicci by accident." It would also help keep his mind off... Charlie... if he could play mental darts, with Kinsey's head as the target.

"That is a reasonable request, Colonel. Visual and audio transmission will begin shortly."

A concealed panel slid away to reveal the tv he'd watched the Simpsons on the night before, and after a few moments the face of one of his least favourite people appeared – along with Al and a distinctly uncomfortable looking Gooshie. The Senator's assistant wasn't there, but a Marine was – presumably from the reception on the ground floor. Good old Bob, Jack mused, always protecting number one... and making sure there are witnesses.

"– been a while, Senator," Al was saying, shaking Kinsey's hand. The Admiral and the Marine must have already gotten over the saluting end of protocol. "Welcome back to Project Quantum Leap."

Kinsey looked the same as usual: dour and under-whelmed by the technology around him. Jack surprised himself by feeling indignant on behalf of the crew out there.

"Yes, well I was in the area when I heard about your security breach, Admiral," was the condescending reply. "I told you the last time that I didn't want to see anything like this happen again. I don't have much time, but it seemed like a good idea to... drop by. What's your excuse this time?"

Jack's first thought was: what was Kinsey doing 'in the area'? There were plenty of other military complexes throughout New Mexico, and Colorado wasn't that far away for a Senator with a government-owned jet. The bastard had probably shut someone else down for breakfast... His belly rumbled as Al replied.

"Our current Leapee turned out to be a man with considerable military experience, Senator, and who was captured during Operation Desert Storm in 1993. Though he came to us from what would otherwise be a normal day in his life, he was extremely suspicious of us to say the least, and when we pressed him for information he gave only his service number... and later he threatened me physically, hence the lockdown."

Jack could see Kinsey nodding absently as Al explained the situation, and was glad to hear the Admiral sticking to the facts. The best lie was one that was almost entirely made of the truth. Kinsey didn't seem to care though.

"What do you mean he threatened you physically?" He asked, though his expression suggested that he wasn't really interested. Jack was convinced that this display was near-identical to the one he'd seen at the SGC last year: the man had already made his mind up.

"You remember that our Leapees take on the physical appearance of Dr Beckett, Senator?" Al continued firmly yet politely, reminding Jack of General Hammond. "We often show them a mirror if they refuse to cooperate – it is a tactic supported by our psychiatrist, Dr Veeks. Unfortunately, O'Neill's reaction was somewhat different to the norm – he smashed the mirror and held a shard to my throat."

There it was. The hook, and by the flash in Kinsey's eyes he was taking the bait. He was hiding it now, but Jack was sure that he'd seen bloodlust for just a moment – the man was a politician after all, and they ruled head over heart. Kinsey's heart was too close to his self-proclaimed mission though: to close down all secret projects... or at least those that didn't conform to his ideals. That one flash of greed was also the evidence that Jack had been waiting for: Kinsey hadn't known that was here until now, and that cut down the odds that this project was just a ploy to get information from him. His gut was right.

"O'Neill? Um, that would be your Leapee, yes?" Kinsey asked, all innocence. Jack's mouth twisted – that man was the embodiment of all insincerity. After a nod from Al, the Senator continued. "So you initiated the lockdown... that's understandable Admiral, but he doesn't seem to be threatening you now? Hmm?"

"That's right," Al replied. "We... gave him a sedative. In his water. So he eventually lost his grip and I... escaped." The Admiral coughed. "He slept for a while and we removed the glass, but he's still essentially sedated now. The lockdown is still in force though, just in case. No real emergency any more, simply a precaution to safeguard the complex – I'm sure you'll agree that it's an appropriate measure."

Jack focussed on Kinsey's features. What was he thinking? He had to take the bait. Al was doing a pretty good job of leading the conversation, and Gooshie – sensibly – was just concentrating on his work. The politician, on the other hand, was unreadable... but Jack was sure he'd taken the bait.

"Indeed, Admiral, indeed... This disturbs me, however. Not only is security a problem here, it seems, but as always Project Quantum Leap appears to be failing in its mission by attracting nobodies as Leapees." What a snake! Jack clenched his fist, drowning his rising temper to hear the remainder of the Senator's reply. "Tell me more about this O'Neill, then – what is Dr Beckett's apparent mission this time?"

Ooh what a smoothie, Jack decided, screwing up his mouth in distaste. From the look on Al's face, he thought the same. The man was trying to find out what he wanted without making it too obvious... their story was going to work... if he could just pull it off.

"Well," Al began. "It's a clear-cut mission for once. The man has a son named Charlie, who dies in our history. It was a terrible accident with a handgun that was kept in the house. Sam has Leaped in only couple of days before this tragedy, and he's trying to keep the kid away from the gun and to turn him off the idea of using one as a toy."

"Good on you, Al," Jack murmured, covering up the wince of pain with support for his new friend. "Keep it up..."

"Mmm... so the mission is to save the boy's life?" Kinsey was saying.

"Yes Senator, but not just that," Al offered. "In the current timeline, the parents later divorce and the father – the man who is now in the Waiting Room – appears to be shunted into a military backwater. Up until this point he served in the field for the Air Force, black ops mainly, but it seems that shortly after his son's death his career takes a downturn. We can't tell exactly what his assignment becomes, but it's within an underground research facility and would appear to be a desk job. Ironically our sources also indicate that he has just died in the present day – not a good end for a man who appears to be a little hostile but an otherwise decent person."

Kinsey was looking curious now, but was otherwise blank as usual. Jack figured that he was probably trying to figure out how badly Charlie's death had affected him. This would be the test: showing Kinsey the extra consequences of a Leap.

"Your much-vaunted 'knock-on effects', eh Admiral?" The politician was snide now. Had he guessed what they were up to? Nah, Jack dismissed the thought. He was smart, but that sort of convoluted thinking just didn't suit the man. "So what does your computer predict?"

"Ziggy?"

"Senator Kinsey, little data is available however I am confident that had Charlie O'Neill not died he would be alive and well today. Consequences that can be directly tied to this tragedy in the current timeline include the parents' divorce. It is also unlikely that a successful field officer would be transferred as Lt. Colonel O'Neill was unless there was a diminished capacity in his ability to carry out his normal duties," the computer announced emotionlessly. "Scenarios suggest that the family would have remained together and that no career change of such gravity would have occurred, had Charlie O'Neill not died. Lt. Colonel O'Neill himself might still have died as part of the normal course of his duties however."

Wait to go Ziggy, Jack thought silently, noting that she'd ever looked up his rank two years ago. It was true that his life had changed radically back then, and it still devastated him, but the thought that he might never have learnt about the Stargate if his son hadn't died... that was a horrible concept too. It was the assignment of a lifetime after all, though he could understand why an outsider might think that Cheyenne Mountain was the back of beyond as far as a field officer was concerned. Life sure did suck.

Kinsey's thoughts appeared to be on overdrive as well – this was a man who usually had a comeback for everything!

"So Senator, what do you think?" Al broke the awkward silence, probably as desperate for a response as Jack was. "I can show you the records of other Leaps since your last visit if you'd like? Or perhaps we could visit the Accounts department on Level –6 if you'd like to see how our budget is working out?"

Jack almost chuckled. Al was good at this, very good – he'd obviously been playing with politicians for a while now. Kinsey, in contrast, was shifting his posture a little... his body language wasn't quite so aggressive any more. Still hostile, but not on the offensive.

"I don't think there's any need for that, Admiral – this was an unscheduled stop after all. I have other matters to attend to," Kinsey answered eventually. "Perhaps I should meet this O'Neill fellow though – what was his name?"

"Lt. Colonel Jonathon O'Neill, Senator," Al supplied, a small sparkle of glee in his voice. Jack hoped that Kinsey put that down to not having to review the Project's accounts. "We find that he prefers to be called 'Jack' though, and we haven't mentioned anything about the death of his son. He calls me 'Al' – we try to stick to first names, it's... friendlier."

"Jack O'Neill..." Kinsey mumbled, nodding to himself. A sly smile appeared on his lips – they had him. "In the interests of monitoring your security procedures fully, yes, I think I should meet this man O'Neill."

"As you wish," Al confirmed, looking toward the Marine by the doorway. "Would you like to enter the room first, Private Johnson?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Jack saw the Marine snap smartly to attention, then suddenly the view screen changed to an old episode of the Simpsons – Itchy & Scratchy to be precise.

"What? Ziggy!" He yelled.

"Your visitors will arrive in a moment, Colonel," Ziggy reminded him. "Please prepare yourself for the task."

"Doh!" How could he get this engrossed and not recognise the planned outcome when it appeared? Jack hurriedly laid himself out on the bed and decided to watch the screen with a half-asleep attitude. I'm sedated, he reminded himself. And I must _not_ lose control...

The door slid open, and in stepped a Marine. He took his station by the entrance as Jack looked up, feigning grogginess. "Al?"

"I'm here, Jack," Al answered as he entered with Kinsey, playing along. "Could you lower the volume please, Ziggy?"

The sound of Scratchy chopping Itchy into tiny pieces became muted, and Jack turned a dozy smile toward Al. "You've brought people with you," he observed absent-mindedly, focussing on the task at hand. "Are they... friendly?"

Al winked. "Yes Jack, no-one's going to hurt you. You have a visitor. Bob?"

The look on Kinsey's face said it all. He didn't like being called Bob unless he said so, and there was a thundercloud on this horizon. Keep it together O'Neill, Jack reminded himself.

"Hi Bob!" He said brightly. "I'm Jack."

Jack found it easy to grin like an idiot in Kinsey's presence. It covered up all kinds of nasty thoughts that were buzzing round his head – though it didn't make them go away.

"You said he was sedated, Admiral, not in cloud cuckoo land," the Senator muttered.

"All part of the procedure," Al murmured back. "We didn't want a repeat performance of this morning. It took a lot to calm him down to this level though, the man must have been taught tolerance against mind control drugs at some point – it's standard black ops training."

"Hmm... He looks exactly like Dr Beckett though." Kinsey sounded dubious.

Al looked surprised at the comment. "Leapees always do, Senator. They're concealed by Dr Beckett's aura, just as he is by theirs."

Kinsey stepped closer to the bed, but stopped a couple of feet away. Al came right up to the bed though, and gave Jack a pat on the shoulder.

"You're all right now, aren't you Jack?" He asked, laughter in his eyes. "You won't try to hurt anyone again will you?"

Jack shook his head, and turned towards the Simpsons again.

"Jack? Jack!"

Oh, so Al was trying to get his attention again was he?

"Yes?"

"Bob here would like to ask you a couple of questions – is that ok?"

"I guess so. Fire away, Bob!"

Kinsey cleared his throat, his expression unsure. "Hi, erm... Jack. How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, Bob!" Playing a sedated moron was fun, he decided.

"That's erm... that's good. Very good, Jack. Why... why did you try to hurt Adm– ... sorry, Al... this morning?"

Jack paused a moment before answering. "He was a stranger, and I was in a strange place. I thought I was in a bad place. I've been to bad places before... a long time ago. They hurt me."

That's an understatement, Jack added mentally. I've been to plenty of bad places and they all hurt like nothing else. This would have been a field day by comparison.

"But A... Al isn't a bad person?"

"No. Are you?" He couldn't resist it.

Kinsey laughed weakly, but didn't answer. "What's your name, Jack?"

"Are you a bad person?!" He asked again, more aggressively. There was fun to be had here, and he could hear Al whispering 'answer him!'

"No... no, I'm... erm... I'm not a bad person, Jack. I just want to know your name."

Jack scowled like a child... like Charlie had when he'd told him that he couldn't play with a real gun. No! Stick to your mission, O'Neill!

"Jonathon O'Neill, USAF, service number 69-4-141," he recited obediently, then darted a quick look at Al, who nodded minutely. Could he see the pain he was trying so desperately to hide?

"What year is it, Jack?"

"1996." As if he could forget that year. Everything had changed... everything. He tried desperately to keep the strain out of his voice.

"And do you have a wife and child?" Kinsey pressed.

Jack was silent, staring at the Simpsons – Homer now falling down the stairs for some stupid reason – hoping that the Senator would mistake his emotion for obstinate childishness. He'd been worried about what would happen if Kinsey had asked this question directly, and now the man had and he was having trouble coping.

"Jack?" It was Al, willing him to answer as they'd discussed. Kinsey needed the confirmation if this was going to work.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a wife and child?" Al repeated the question, somehow making it easier to answer – even if he was lying.

Jack stared at the tv and willed himself to answer with a single word. One word without emotion, without tears.

"Yes."

Al sighed – with relief? "Senator, I don't think we'll get much more from him today. He really is drugged up quite severely."

Kinsey nodded, and though Jack was looking away from him he could feel those eyes boring into him. "All right, Admiral. Have it your way."

"Ok," Al replied, clapping Jack on the back once again. "Good bye Jack!"

"Bye Al. Bye Bob," Jack replied, trying his damnedest to keep contempt out of the name Bob.

"Say goodbye, Senator," he heard Al mumble to Kinsey, followed by an indiscreet snort from the man himself.

"Goodbye... Jack."

The door slid closed, and Jack sighed with released tension – then wept, no longer caring that he still wore a bright, white leotard. The pain was quieter now, but he wasn't sure whether he was crying for himself, for Charlie, or even for Sara. He just needed to let it out.


	16. Mythology Meets Science

Disclaimer: If either of these series belonged to me, I think you'd know about it :)

Reviewers: thank you very much, especially to Astrophysikerin for the in-depth constructive criticism. I am a bit of a weird one in that I've watched lots of SG1 in completely the wrong order, and have probably missed several key episodes... This is probably because I've moved house approx. 9 times since 1997 (some had cable, some didn't), and lived on 3 different continents in the same time period. In that sense it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if I were writing some of the characters a little off-centre... I'll keep trying though.

Treat of the day: Marmite on warm buttered toast... mmmm... UK Marmite that is, not the road tar they sell in NZ! Unless you actually like it that is... (same goes for Vegemite, uhngh...). All hail the mighty mate Marmite!

P.S. All this blabbering about Hemuset is not just me going slightly mad, it is part of the storyline (told you it's run away with me!).

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**Stargate Command – 20th September 1998**

**Daniel's POV**

"Daniel, are you ok?"

"Mmmmhhhh."

The archaeologist in question was holding the bridge of his nose tightly, trying to head off what promised to be a headache of momentous proportions. He hadn't had enough sleep last night... or maybe he hadn't drunk enough coffee today. More likely it was the terrible knowledge that a band of jarheads was pawing through his things, people who had no respect for anything but weapons! Well some of them might do, he corrected himself, but judging by Major Castleman's attitude he was going to keep a tight rein on the investigation – and his men would follow orders, nothing more, nothing less. Chances were the closest they got to archaeology were TV documentaries and standing outside his door...

"Daniel?" Sam asked again, more gently this time. She sounded closer. A soothing arm brushed his shoulder.

He released his nose, replaced his glasses and smiled wanly. "Sorry Sam, it's just the usual – allergies, stress, having your life's work being violated..."

"Uh-huh," Sam nodded understandingly. You could always trust a fellow scientist to grasp the depth of traumas like this. "You can take a break if you need to – it's not like we've been making much headway on this thing, with or without your books."

Daniel shook his head. "No, don't worry – I'll be fine in a moment. I just need to get back into the zone and ignore the excess chaos." He grinned. "Maybe I should try a little _kelno'reem_, Teal'c."

The Jaffa smiled his appreciation. "You could be correct, DanielJackson. _Kelno'reem_ can be very beneficial during times of hardship."

He left unsaid the fact that Daniel's current mental state was far to active for a spot of meditation – he wouldn't be able to sit still long enough to get past the breathing exercises for starters. Work would be a far more effective screen for the clanging in his head, Daniel decided.

"Anyway... Where were we?" He asked, hoping to deflect the team's interest in his well-being.

"Well," Sam began. "We were about to interrogate Teal'c for any clues regarding Hemuset, because this device is a dead-end right now." She sounded business-like enough, but Daniel could see for her expression revealing that she wasn't buying it for one moment. She would be checking up on him later, he was sure of it. She was almost as much of a mother hen to him as he was to Jack.

"May I see the artefact you speak of, CaptainCarter?" Teal'c asked. Of course, Daniel remembered, he hadn't been with them on the mission and had only just gotten back.

"Go right ahead," Sam was replying. "It seems to be safe to touch and it hasn't responded to any radiation or other bombardment so far. We literally have no idea what it is, nor why it's so important to Hemuset."

"Jack's dubbed it the 'popcorn machine'," Daniel added. "Probably because of those bumps on the side."

The artefact in question was innocent enough to look at, being shaped somewhat like a small football – or rugby ball, the linguistic side of him pointed out; 'football' means a lot of different things to different people. It was also covered with what could only be described as shallow circular bumps, all exactly the same shape and size, which made the artefact look like a football-shaped lump of popcorn, or so Jack had said. As usual, his name had stuck... at least it wasn't 'doo-hickey' for once.

"Why do you believe that it is a machine?" Teal'c asked, eventually.

Daniel and Sam looked at each other dumbly, realising that this was one concept that they had not second-guessed before.

"I do not know the word that I am searching for in your tongue, however I do not believe that 'machine' is the correct term," he continued. "I believe that a 'machine' usually has moving parts – is that not true?"

"Essentially, yes," Daniel allowed. "We do tend to use other words like 'device' or 'appliance' for other items that do something without the use of moving parts. Like a telephone, for instance – or even a GDO."

Teal'c stretched his hand toward the artefact and looked at Sam with a questioning eyebrow. She nodded in encouragement.

"Go ahead, Teal'c – pick it up."

This object looked more like a lemon than a football in Teal'c's large hands, Daniel realised. Sadly though, it remained as inert as ever. He'd been holding his breath in case something in the other man's Jaffa physiology had set off... anything... but it hadn't, of course. That would have been too easy.

"The inscription that I've been trying to translate is engraved around the base of one of the... erm... bumps," Daniel pointed out, wishing that for all its complexity the English language could have come up with something better then 'bump'. 'Contusion' might sound more fitting, but then no one would have a clue what he was going on about. "I have an enlarged copy somewhere in my files."

Teal'c was still frowning at the artefact, turning it over in his hands and pressing some of the bumps as if to test them as buttons. Sam had already tried that the previous night of course, as testified by the weary look on her face. She could do with a night out, Daniel thought to himself, despite her protests that she didn't need to watch a touched up version of Return of the Jedi because she lived through it every day. He knew she'd join them though, she always did.

"I believe that I have found the word that I was looking for," Teal'c commented finally, placing the artefact back in its makeshift cradle. "It is a 'gadget'."

Daniel sighed audibly. Why did Jack have this effect on people? Why did he feel the need to pass on the most useless phrases? At least it was better than 'doo-hickey'...

"Do you have any idea what it does?" Sam asked eagerly.

"No," was the simple reply.

"Well do you know anything about Hemuset?" Daniel followed quickly, trying not to sound too impatient.

"Yes."

Daniel grinned elatedly. Sam had had her turn, showing Teal'c the gadget – no, artefact! – so it was only fair to try the anthropological end of the spectrum next. He could show Teal'c the inscription and maybe they could all work it out from that angle!

"Go on..."

The Jaffa took a seat, his forehead furrowed with concentration – though the golden brand of Apophis remained smooth. Daniel quashed the bad memories that threatened to surface and chose instead to listen. Maybe this artefact would be the one that could help him get Sha're back after all.

"Hemuset is a minor Goa'uld who has remained on the fringes for many centuries, perhaps millennia," Teal'c began. "I do not recall any attacks upon the System Lords, nor tales of past glory – or defeat – however she is feared. Apophis would give her planet a wide berth when nearby, and she owes allegiance to no higher ranking Goa'uld."

"Isn't that a bit unusual?" Sam interrupted, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "I thought that most of the Goa'uld were linked in one way or another, at least politically."

Teal'c nodded slowly in her direction. "You are correct, CaptainCarter. The majority of Goa'uld do find a niche within the hierarchy, either serving the higher ranks or fighting for status with the aim of becoming a System Lord one day."

"So Hemuset tends to stay away from the power struggle," Daniel prompted, not wanting to stray too far from the original question. "Does she ever make alliances? How does she remain independent? I didn't think the Goa'uld liked mavericks?"

"You too are correct, DanielJackson. Hemuset is indeed a strange creature, and she does appear to act alone. Stories of her centre around her invulnerability, usually involving her ability to predict attacks against her and overcome enormous odds." Teal'c smiled vindictively. "It was said that Apophis himself once had his 'ass whipped' by Hemuset. The First Prime before Bra'tac was promoted following that incident, as his predecessor was summarily executed for his failure."

Daniel was taken aback. Apophis had a huge army of Jaffa and a dangerous fleet – plus the First Primes before Bra'tac had to have been no less fearsome than the Master himself, who constantly complained that standards were slipping. He glanced at Sam, who appeared equally shocked.

"How does she do it?"

"No one knows, CaptainCarter. Occasionally she sends an emissary to a System Lord who is known to be under threat, offering her 'services'. It is unknown what these may be, however the threat to these Lords – which is always from another System Lord – often dwindles or even vanishes shortly afterward. Hemuset herself merely receives her payment and remains on her planet throughout."

Daniel scratched his head, knowing as he did so that he epitomised the cliché. "What does she ask for in payment?"

Teal'c paused. "Nothing that one could associate with her continued ability to remain unallied, DanielJackson. It is said that she never requests control of other planets or systems, nor a place at the side of a great Lord – just those items that would facilitate her lifestyle, such as only slaves, teltacs, or similar items. Not even Jaffa or _ha'taks_. She has moved her base at least twice according to the stories, however this was always by her own means and never due to an alliance. She does not raid planets controlled by other Goa'uld and has never been known to pursue a particular spouse or even a host, choosing instead from among her own people."

"So as Goa'uld go, she's not actually that bad," Sam commented, and Daniel stared at her in disbelief. She held her hands up in surrender. "Ok, ok – so she's still a Goa'uld, but she doesn't seem to be a megalomaniac for once!"

"More like a spymaster to me..." Daniel grumbled, offended that any Goa'uld could be described as 'not that bad'. With the exception of the Tok'ra, of course. "Would that fit the stories? If she had spies everywhere?"

Teal'c pondered the question. "It is possible. I recall that the attack by Apophis never actually occurred, due to a range of accidents that delayed its launch. The setbacks became so great that Apophis' mothership was vulnerable, following which a transmission was received from Hemuset detailing her full knowledge of his plans and accepting full responsibility for the covert strike upon his own forces. It was an embarrassing defeat."

"So she infiltrated his army with saboteurs?"

"That is what Bra'tac was taught, and is the common perception... however it has never been understood how her agents gain the necessary access to disable critical systems." Teal'c paused dramatically. "For Hemuset's agent to disable Apophis' ship so thoroughly, he had to have the authority of the First Prime."

"But Apophis executed his First Prime, didn't you say that earlier?" Sam cross-examined. "Was he the saboteur?"

"Kai'rac was declared _shol'vah_, as I was, and Apophis declared to all his subjects that no... double-crossing? ... would go unpunished. Kai'rac himself maintained his innocence throughout his torture however, and no other offenders were ever identified. It is for this reason that Apophis and many others fear Hemuset: her ways and means are secret and leave no trace, yet implicate those who have been trusted at the highest levels."

Daniel pinched his nose again, his thoughts racing. "Let me get this straight. A minor Goa'uld who has very little in the way of power and stays on the sidelines, somehow corrupted the First Prime of one of the nastiest System Lords out there? To the point that he... left his ship drifting in space? It doesn't make sense!"

Sam looked confused. "It's strange, yes – but why shouldn't it be possible? Teal'c here was a free-thinker himself, along with the rest of the rebels, which isn't the same thing I know but it's still a sign that not all Jaffa think alike."

"Because," Daniel continued, "Hemuset doesn't recruit Jaffa – she doesn't even get paid in Jaffa. It sounds like she doesn't have much in the way of military forces at all, so how could she infiltrate a man with the gifts to become a First Prime into Apophis' army? And presumably into others', if I'm hearing you right Teal'c."

"It's not that unusual Daniel, look at Teal'c – his father served Cronos, and yet Apophis still took him on. And we have nothing to say that she used the same tactics against different System Lords," Sam pointed out. "Do you know anything about why other System Lords fear her, Teal'c?"

"I am afraid not, CaptainCarter," the Jaffa apologised. "However sabotage or other covert means would account for the System Lords' unwillingness to speak of Hemuset – or to allow their servants to speak of her. She is known of by all, but in very little detail. A defeat in battle may still be used as a tale of glory, but a defeat from shadows is a severe embarrassment to any commander."

Daniel took his glasses off and began to polish them while Teal'c spoke, looking back toward the 'popcorn machine'. Finally satisfied, he placed them back on his nose and fumbled through his papers. He stared at the enlargement of the writing on the gadget for a moment, then handed it to Teal'c.

"Ok, so we have a couple of ideas about Hemuset herself – what about this inscription though? It still doesn't seem to make sense to me..."

Teal'c frowned as he read the symbols, and Daniel was disappointed to see that it was not a frown of comprehension. "This appears to be an ancient dialect, DanielJackson. I can only understand a little."

"Ancient?" Sam's ears had perked up at the word, but Daniel waved his hand to calm her excitement.

"No capital letter Sam – besides, don't you think I'd have mentioned something like that by now?"

"Ok, ok," she blushed. "What was the translation you came up with again?"

He gave a short laugh. "'Bear this token behind the Stargate to ensure quick return and continued future'. That's the bare bones of it, but there are some inflections and accents in there that I'm not sure about – the kind that could make all the difference."

"Like in tonal languages when a change in pitch can turn a word into something entirely different?"

"You've got it. The 'quick return' is what I'm least sure about, and 'continued future' makes it sound a bit life and death-ish don't you th-"

Daniel cut himself short as Sam's phone rang. The pair of them darted a quick look to the clock, and Daniel guessed that Sam was worried they'd missed General Hammond's 5 o'clock deadline with their brainstorming... but it was just gone half past four. They looked at each other and Sam shrugged, picked up the phone on its second ring.

"Carter here... General, I- ... oh, right away sir... yessir, Daniel and Teal'c also."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and Daniel tapped the desk nervously as Sam listened.

"What was all that about, Sam?" He asked as soon as the phone was back on the receiver.

"Your office, Daniel – they've found some fingerprints that aren't on file for this base."

A few minutes later, the whole of SG1 was gathered around the briefing room table along with General Hammond and Major Castleman. Daniel was glad to see that Jack was still in his wheelchair, looking as uncomfortable as ever but at least giving his ankle the time it needed to heal.

"Thank you for coming, people," General Hammond began. "As I'm sure your aware by now, we appear to have had a serious breach of security this morning... however due to a distinct lack of data we cannot yet assess the full extent of that breach. Dr Jackson, I'm afraid that your office will have to remain off-limits for the remainder of today, but Major Castleman assures me that his team will have completed all the necessary checks by later this evening. Major, it you could bring SG1 up-to-date?"

"Of course sir," Major Castleman stated briskly before fixing Daniel with a very clear gaze. "Dr Jackson, we have found several instances of a specific set of fingerprints throughout your office – on the desk, the bookshelves, even on the door handle – and of course on the piece of paper that you gave me earlier, though they appear smudged."

Daniel flushed red in embarrassment. "That was probably when I tried smoothing it out – it was crumpled in the bin, and I thought it was one of my normal notes to start with."

The Major nodded. "Understandable. We've also found numerous hairs of course, but it'll be some time before they're fully analysed. They'll belong to a number of people, as did the fingerprints, but the goal will be to identify each individual until we have something we can't recognise. We already have DNA records for all personnel who travel off world, but we may need to take samples from other people like the cleaner.

"How long will all this take, Major?" Jack asked anxiously. He looked pale, Daniel thought. Probably worried about whether it had ever happened before without anyone noticing.

"If the fingerprints come through we should have results by tomorrow afternoon – but it could be longer. We've already checked the fingerprints through the Cheyenne Mountain database, so the next step is to search the wider armed forces database. We've also sent copies to the FBI in case it was a civilian, but there are a lot of people out there who would never have had their prints taken," Major Castleman's mouth took a downturn. "Identifying the hair will take a lot longer – it's the sort of thing that would be used as evidence when we catch the intruder and prosecute."

Jack nodded weakly as Castleman then turned to Daniel: "Now, are you sure that nothing was taken?"

"Definitely! No matter what _some _people say, I have a very precise filing system," he answered, glaring at Jack.

"And you didn't leave your door unlocked while you were away from your office this morning?"

"No, I didn't – but it was unlocked while I was asleep. I asked Jack to wake me up at 11 o'clock, and since there's no such thing as a spare key I just left the door unlocked. Probably a bad move in light of recent events..." He trailed off.

"What about CCTV or access cards?" Sam asked, drawing attention away from Daniel for a moment – for which he was immensely grateful.

"No clues there either – whoever this is, they knew what they were doing. We've also checked the server logs, and there was nothing there either."

Daniel remembered that there was a camera on every major intersection within the complex... not to mention the well-guarded entrance and perimeter fence. "There has to be something? Isn't my door covered by one of the cameras?" he pleaded.

"I'm afraid not, Dr Jackson, and unfortunately the camera near your office is just that: near, but not wholly visible," the Major replied, looking sideways at General Hammond. "And as I explained to the General earlier, we're taking this breach extremely seriously. The reason for the break-in is now only part of the investigation – the fact that it happened at all, and with so little evidence, is enough to make sure that we will be checking every possible angle."

"Have you ruled out alien involvement then?" Jack interrupted.

"Yes sir, we have. There has been no unidentified off-world activation of the Stargate recently, and the fingerprints we've found are almost certainly human. In addition, and as Dr Jackson pointed out himself, very few alien intruders would write in English. The writing itself is of course another possible source of identification that we'll be running through the armed forces database. It's not as wide a sample as we have for the fingerprints, but every little helps."

General Hammond leant forward. "This is a very serious matter people, and I want to assure you all – especially Dr Jackson – that I have the utmost confidence in Major Castleman and his team. However this person got in, and whatever it was that they were looking for, they will find out."

Daniel scratched the back of his head and sighed.

"Do you have something to add, Dr Jackson?"

He looked up guiltily. This was the trouble with the military, he thought – no matter what you did, they were either watching or listening. Even a sigh could be declared reprehensible... or at least that was the feeling he got something.

"Er, nothing sir – nothing at all," Daniel replied apologetically. "I was just thinking... well..." All eyes were on him now. He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. "It doesn't make sense!"

"In what way, Doctor?" Major Castleman had his blank face on again. Probably thought he was questioning his methods, or treading on his patch or something...

"If someone went to all this trouble to break into a top secret military base, 28 floors below ground, surely they'd take something?" he asserted. "Ok so they might have taken photos, or memorised something, but we're talking about a person who has broken into the SGC for no apparent reason. Not only that, but they've come into my office and touched my stuff – probably while I was asleep in there! Either that or they're great at picking locks, right? But then if this person was so wonderfully covert, why didn't they wear gloves? And it still doesn't explain why – you know, the motive." He knew he was rambling now, but he couldn't stop. "Sure a reporter would love to get their hands on information about aliens and so on, but surely the pickings would be far richer in say Sam's lab? Why me?"

Major Castleman looked toward General Hammond, who held up a hand to halt him. Jack and Sam exchanged a look, and Teal'c tilted his head to observe the General. Daniel lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose again, feeling his headache returning.

"I'm sor–"

"Dr Jackson," General Hammond interrupted. "I am fully aware that we cannot answer your questions at this time, and I am sorry that you have been so badly affected by this intruder. You will not be alone however."

Daniel looked up, a sense of foreboding coming over him.

"Starting tonight, the Marine security squad under Major Castleman will be checking all areas of the base for additional fingerprints. They will start with easily accessible areas and obvious surfaces like door handles, and move in to check any other offices or labs that appear to have been visited by this individual."

Sam took the news that her lab might be checked pretty well as far as Daniel could tell, since her only response was: "Sir, the number of fingerprints on such surfaces has to be immense!"

"I know Captain, I know," the General sighed. "But we have to start somewhere, and we need to know the extent of this breach. I've even had the armoury inspected out to make sure that nothing is missing, because the last thing we need is a zat being sold on the black market."

Jack was nodding, looking worried. He looked more afraid than anxious though, which was strange.

"So what do you need us to do, sir," he asked, almost stumbling over the words.

"Nothing Colonel, nothing at all. Just go out with your team tonight, and come back in the morning in time for your departure to the Alpha site – nothing has changed there," General Hammond emphasised with a look to both Jack and Teal'c. "And Captain Carter, I'll take your report in the morning at say 0900 hours? I have a few more things on my mind right now."

"Of course, General," Sam replied. "Just let me know if you need any help searching the labs."

General Hammond took one last look around the table, his gaze settling on Major Castleman. "I don't envy your task, Major, but I know that you will do your utmost."

He stood, and all others bar Jack – still in his wheelchair – followed suit.

"Dismissed."


	17. Revelations

Disclaimer: The little voices talk to me, but they talked to someone else first. Traitors...

Reviewers: Thanks loads! You all be stars! A savoury treat for you today: shepherds pie, yum yum...

P.S. The weird food-allergy pizza below is real, a colleague of mine used to eat it. Same goes for the 'why bother' coffee.

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**September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Al's POV**

Admiral Albert Calavicci looked at his watch and groaned. Senator Kinsey had left a full hour ago and Ziggy was still insisting that Jack be left alone. She wouldn't even let him speak to him, let alone allow him through the Waiting Room door. Al found this extremely frustrating - he could understand that Jack had reopened some old wounds on their behalf, and he was immensely grateful for it, but a deal was a deal and Sam was still out there. Time was wasting.

He looked at his watch and groaned again. It was nearly 6 o'clock! Ziggy had let the ancillary staff go at 1700 hours, after he'd made an announcement to say that the security drill was finally over and thanking them for their cooperation, but the day was nowhere near finished for he and Gooshie. Even Tina was keeping herself busy after-hours, having decided to leave the base in search of pizza for them all. She said she wanted to get away from that 'horrible man' for a while, but then asked to borrow his car because it was faster. Women! Lord help her if she crashed or pressed one of the whizzy 'experimental' buttons she was always asking about...

"Hey Ziggy," Al called out suddenly, struck by another thought. "Did you ever hear back from Dr Beeks?"

"I am afraid not, Admiral – however our earlier request for her attendance remains in place."

Dr Verbeena Beeks acted as the Project's psychiatrist, interviewing every Leapee for her own research (as well as Ziggy's records) and giving the team advice when they had a problem with a Leapee – or occasionally Sam – but she'd been working at some other complex today. This was normal enough: it was handy having her around, but Sam's Leaps could be long as well as short, most of the Leapees thought they were dreaming, and there could be gaps of several days when the Waiting Room was completely empty. With the Appropriations Committee gnashing at their heels, it hadn't been worth the expense of keeping her Stallions Gate full-time, but today's hostage situation had been an extreme example of how this could backfire. As usual she'd been notified last night when Jack had appeared, but she'd been so tightly booked that Tina and Gooshie's emergency signal this morning had taken a back seat to a prior emergency elsewhere. She'd apparently recommended a colleague named Mackenzie in case they got desperate, but that would have meant indoctrinating someone else into Project Quantum Leap – which only Al himself could authorise – and he had been otherwise engaged.

Al appreciated the effort, and was glad that the major crisis had cleared up even without Dr Beeks' help, but now he realised that their next challenge could be a repeat what had set Jack off in the first place: extracting classified information that would enable them to find, and help, Sam. He doubted that the Colonel would react violently, as he had before he'd accepted the situation, but Al knew that Jack would have been taught not to give away anything from day one of his military career. It was tough training to break, especially after nearly 30 years of service. Not only that, but Jack was now having something of a personal crisis – one that was directly related to a request made by Ziggy herself. Perhaps that explained why she was so insistent that he be left alone.

Al looked toward Gooshie and saw him working feverishly, his keyboard clattering like a high-speed train.

"What are you up to Goosh?"

The programmer's fingers didn't miss a beat as he answered. "Reading up on those clues that Sam managed to give me in the Imaging Chamber."

"I hate to break it to you but you're typing like a maniac, and that's not reading."

"That would be correct, Al," Gooshie replied distantly, his eyes never leaving his screen. "I'm searching for more information on Dr Daniel Jackson, who appears to have fallen off the Earth around the same time as Colonel O'Neill was reinstated in the USAF the first time, and who mysteriously reappears around the same time of Colonel O'Neill's second reinstatement."

"Is there any other connection?" Al asked, interested now.

"He's listed as a civilian consultant to the USAF, and works at Cheyenne Mountain."

"Really? And what's his speciality – weapons?"

"Archaeology and linguistics."

Al stood straight and blinked rapidly, all thoughts of Jack's mental health vanishing in an instant. Gooshie was still clattering away, oblivious to his superior's confusion.

"Did you say archaeology?" He questioned eventually, certain that he can't have heard right.

"And linguistics."

"Uh-huh?" Ok, so he had heard right. "And what does this have to do with Jack O'Neill? Other than presumably working with him?"

"This is what I'm trying to find out, Al," Gooshie replied impatiently. "Like I said – it was as if he fell off the planet a couple of years ago, then reappeared a year or so later and is apparently now working for the Air Force."

Al laughed nervously, a shiver racing up his spine. "Nobody vanishes Gooshie – you should know that by now! Tell him, Ziggy!"

"Dr Fisichella is correct, Admiral," Ziggy chided him, sounding exactly like his third ex-wife when she had one over him. "Dr Jackson did effectively disappear from academia in early 1996 and reappeared as an Air Force consultant in 1997. There is also no record of his residence nor any form of employment during this period."

"There has to be something – come on!" Al protested. "Taxes? Credit cards? Library membership? We managed to track Jack better than that, and he was black ops – although I guess he was employed by the same people all the way through..."

"There's nothing Al, trust me – Ziggy's checked them all. Even his flat was rented out, and there's no record of him going on a dig someplace remote," Gooshie replied, finally turning around in his chair. "Come take a look at this."

Al obliged by walking over to Gooshie's terminal and taking a seat. "Ok, what do you have?"

Gooshie indicated his monitor, which had numerous windows open. "Here's the first thing – it's from an old University of Chicago website. Dr Jackson seems to have been quite the rising star around this time, with a couple of PhDs, short-term tenure at a prestigious university and even his own research assistants – pretty good for a 30 year old!"

"Yeh – a regular little Beckett..." Al mumbled, staring at the black-and-white photo. "So how old is this page?"

"Last updated 7th June 1994," Gooshie's finger traced the line at the bottom of the page. "Apparently he used to be a selling point for the university's archaeology department, who showcase some of their top staff and alumni to attract new students."

"There's nothing unusual in that, Gooshie. What's your point?"

"He's not on the current version of this website – this is an old page that was never deleted, but it's no longer linked in," the programmer explained. "I know – maybe he reached his sell-by date, but then I found this."

Gooshie maximised a second page and sat back in his chair, gesturing that Al should draw closer.

"'Golden Goose of Archaeology'... Last week Dr Daniel Jackson, once considered a visionary young scientist, was the astonishing architect of his own demise... Dr Jackson... yadda yadda yadda... cross-pollination of ancient cultures... what does that mean when it's at home? ... pyramids as landing platforms for UFOs?" Al turned to look at his friend. "What the?"

"That's what I thought, Al – so I kept looking," Gooshie replied, his bushy hair adding to the effect of his wild-eyed expression. "There's more of the same – basically he had a theory that ancient cultures like the Egyptians and Mayans were linked somehow, despite the distance and difference in time periods. He also suggested a link with extra-terrestrials."

The Admiral rolled his eyes. "Oh jeez..."

"This Dr Jackson was literally laughed out of academia," Gooshie continued, his tone sympathetic. "– and he hasn't published a single paper since. That doesn't explain how he vanished or why he's working for the Air Force though."

Al scratched his chin. This was weird. "Ok, you're a civilian consultant to the Navy, right?"

Gooshie nodded. "Yes, but I do still occasionally contribute to academic papers – you know that, since you sign it off. The same goes for Tina and even Donna. Sam was the same when he worked on the Star Bright project, it's one of those annoying facets of military employment –"

"I know, I know," Al interrupted, knowing that he was going to head this ongoing complaint before it reached normal proportions. "We give you the money to do your research and develop all the hi-tech gadgets you can think of, but we put up barriers of secrecy between you and the rest of the scientific community due to all our rules and regulations that go against the very ethos of discovery." He held up his hands in defeat, the words having tumbled out in a well-practised litany of apology. "I've heard it all before and you know I can't do anything about it. But why would Dr Jackson here be any different?"

"I don't know Al, maybe they're working on something even more classified than us?"

"Pull the other one, Gooshie – more classified than time travel?" Al scoffed. "More likely he doesn't get much worth talking about down there. We'll see." He grinned, remembering a different photo he'd caught a glance of earlier. "And what can you tell me about the beautiful Samantha Carter?"

Gooshie rolled his eyes, probably thinking yet again that Al didn't deserve Tina. Al himself took note of it and tried to forget their brief affair – he loved Tina, he really did, but they both had something of a commitment problem... and he'd never, ever understand why she'd picked the short guy with the bad breath...

"PhD in Astrophysics, career military. Came top in everything at the Academy and won plenty of awards," the other man replied with a smile that said 'way out of your league'. "Most of what we can access shows that most of her service history has been research-based, but she has been on active duty before – she flew F16s in the Gulf War."

"Another little Beckett then," Al smiled condescendingly. She was blonde and gorgeous, and she certainly wouldn't look twice at Halitosis Man either. "But at least she can actually fly. Any Jackson-like disappearances?"

"No, far from it – it looks as though she's been too much in demand for anything like that," Gooshie said flatly. "She's been promoted in her turn – rank of Captain, could be a Major as early as next year. Her current assignment is of course Cheyenne Mountain, deep space telemetry – just like Colonel O'Neill."

"Yeh, but it's a little more plausible for a scientist." Al shot Gooshie a sideways glance. "I still don't see how that could work from 28 floors below a mountain."

Gooshie shrugged. "Maybe they're tapped into several observatories, or one that's in space – I don't know. They could simply be developing new methods."

"Riiiiight... an ex-black ops Colonel, an astrophysicist and an archaeologist – not to mention a heck of a lot of weapons and a high-level emergency room – all deep underground. It doesn't sound like deep space telemetry to me, Gooshie." He tapped the desk rapidly and impatiently. "What about the other two words – stargate and... naquadah?"

"Nada. Not even a peep on Ziggy's systems, let alone the internet."

Sighing, Al turned his seat away from the monitor and pushed a hand through his thinning hair. This was a mystery all right, and he'd come right back to square one – Sam was out in Cheyenne Mountain somewhere, and he might die in a few days if they couldn't fix things and get Jack back in his own time before that happened... And the only way they were going to be able to piece this all together was to talk to Jack.

"Ziggy!"

"Yes, Admiral."

Oooh, she was all sweetness and light now. That was always subject to change of course.

"How far away is my car?"

"Dr Martinez-O'Farrell is approximately 15 minutes away."

"In my car?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"Good. Just checking. Um... do you think Jack would like to join us for food? She'll have enough for him, but I'd hate to see the poor guy eating in there alone."

"Do you not think that this decision should be up to Jack, Admiral?" Ziggy asked in return, clearly reading between the lines to see that Al was getting impatient.

Then again, at least she didn't say no, Al pointed out to himself. He ignored the amused shaking of Gooshie's head – that man allowed himself to be bossed around by a computer, whereas at least he put up some token resistance now and then.

"Well would you let me go in there and ask him?"

"I can convey your request to him for you."

"Ziggy, I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me go in there and talk to him. I promise not to prod or poke him, just to ask him if he'd like to join us for pizza," Al paused. "He can't stay in there forever."

The disembodied voice was silent for a couple of moments. "Very well, Admiral – however I must warn you to tread lightly."

"Why, has he been throwing things?" Gooshie asked, worriedly. He buried himself in his computers far too well to deal with real life, Al decided.

"No he has not, however I do not believe that Colonel O'Neill is 'all there', as Dr Martinez-O'Farrell would say." Even a computer could sound worried, it seemed.

Al stood up with a puff – no one else was going to step forward for the job, and Ziggy sounded like she wanted to molly-coddle the man. He was a Colonel, damn it! And if he'd managed to crawl out of the badlands once, he could do it again – the sooner the better.

He walked toward the Waiting Room door and paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, then after one last glance in the direction of the Control Room he pressed the switch and stepped inside.

"Hey Al." Jack's voice was flat, as was his body language – sat on the end of the bed, head hung, shoulders sagging, eyes closed – but Al thought he detected an undercurrent of anger. That wasn't bad – he knew how to deal with anger... self-pity was a hell of a lot harder. At least he'd changed out of the leotard though. "Can't you just leave a guy in peace for a while longer?"

Hmph. "'Fraid not, Jack. We need you out there."

"Yup. Use me and abuse me. That's the way it goes, eh?"

"That's crap and you know it, Colonel," Al near-yelled, his impatience suddenly bursting its dam. He didn't have time for misery-guts here to stop feeling sorry for himself.

Jack's head snapped round towards him, bloodshot eyes now wide open and glaring in a very effective statement of his anger. "You want me to pull myself together?"

"That's right!"

"Well you can rot in hell!"

"Do you want to stay in here forever?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Damned right it does – a good man is going to die in your place if you don't stop acting like a child!"

Oh boy... that was the wrong phrase to use. He'd been impatient, and he'd blown it. When he'd entered, Jack had been quiet and sombre in his grief – now the word 'child' had brought it all back to less manageable levels. Yelling only worked when it was reciprocated, or at least that was Al's experience of it, and the look in Jack's eyes was now stubborn and defiant – but not angry. That was one bad thing about the military – they taught you how to fight and how to hide, but never how to let it all out. Then again, Al realised, he'd also lost people he'd loved... more than once on occasion... and he'd gotten through it, somehow.

Al crossed over to one side of the bed and sat down, his back at right angles to Jack's. What was it that Dr Beeks always said? Never treat a patient like a kid or an idiot: treat them like an equal. He sighed, closed his eyes to focus, then tried a different tack.

"Jack, I know that you probably don't want to hear this – but I think I have to say something."

The other man didn't reply, but then Al hadn't really expected him to.

"Not so long ago, Sam was in a position to help his own family. He actually Leaped into himself at one point, if you can believe that – we had a boy genius scuttling round the place, poking everything, it was a nightmare," Al made a face. "Anyway, he succeeded and we were all very glad for him. Then there was another Leap where he was supposed to be doing one thing but I really – and I mean _really_ really – wanted him to do something completely different." He sighed, wistful memories rising up in his mind. "I wanted him to visit my wife, Beth."

Al fell silent for a moment, and prayed that Jack was listening. He'd lost a wife too, also due to a divorce that wouldn't have happened without some external trauma, which made this story a little more relevant to the current situation than his other great loss – his sister Trudie.

"I told you before that I was MIA in Vietnam for a few years, right? And that Beth thought I was dead and remarried? I had a very, _very_ hard time coping with that – and in fact that's probably why I have so much trouble with women even now."

"You don't have to tell me this, Al," Jack pointed out quietly, earning a concealed grin of victory from the Admiral. Maybe this was going to work after all. Point one for Verbeena.

"Yeh, yeh... I know, but I want to. I think it might help," Al asserted in a similar tone of voice. "Y'see, it always hurt that Beth gave up on me – anyone else but her, and I'd have been fine – so when there was this slight chance that Sam could visit her and tell her that I would come home, eventually, I... I really got my nose out of joint because he didn't. He stuck to his mission, and Beth still gave up on me. What I had to do was accept that things happen for a reason, and while Sam fixes some of them when they go wrong he also doesn't have a choice over where he Leaps."

Al heard Jack took a deep breath and held his own, hoping for another response. He glanced at his watch again, frowning at the realisation that it was now just after 1800.

"So Al, what are you saying? That I should just run with the knocks, because that's just the way life is?"

A reply!! An actual reply! And one that tried to bite – even better...

"Yes and no, Jack, yes and no," Al admitted partially. "Because Sam's also not done yet. We want him home, but something else doesn't – and there are a lot of wrongs out there that still need to be righted."

The sarcastic laugh from the other man was expected. "Right, so now you're trying to tell me that your time-travelling friend could be back at some other time to help... to stop Charlie from dying instead of me? Yeh right! Lightening never strikes twice, and I would never be that damned lucky."

"Now who told you that cock-and-bull story, Jack?" Al tried hard to keep his voice free and easy, showing none of the tension that was riling him up inside. "It's happened before and it can happen again – even with Sam. He Leaped into a Downs kid named Jimmy twice already." Ok so the second Leap was due to Alia and her evil sidekick Zoey... but O'Neill didn't need to know that.

"Hmph."

Al screwed his fists up in frustration. Was that all the response he was going to get? Maybe he should have left this to Dr Beeks... But Sam was still out there, and Lord only knew what was happening to him!

"Jack?"

Silence.

"Would you ever intentionally leave a man behind?"

Silence. But it felt like someone had shifted on the bed and it wasn't Al.

"Because it really sucks. You know the score, you've been there. Not knowing where you are, what you're doing there, how the hell you're going to get out... it sucks."

More silence. Great, Al thought, I really am back to square one – but this time he's not even going to react. I've dug us all into an even larger hole than we were already in!

He decided that it was time to leave before he made things even worse and stepped off the bed as gently as possible. The expert would be here in the morning, and she'd sort Jack out in no time... after tearing a few new strips off his own back...

Al pressed the door switch lightly and turned for one last glance at Jack before he left the room – he hadn't moved. He stepped outside the door and caught a whiff of pizza, his stomach growling involuntarily. Well at least that meant Tina and his car were all right.

He made as if to close the door again when Jack's voice stopped him.

"You should have said."

Spinning back to stick his head round the door, Al couldn't believe his ears. What should he have said? What shouldn't he have said? Please please please let this be a good sign!

"Erm, what should I have said Jack?" He asked, blinking when he saw the other man not only speaking, but approaching the door. Jack wasn't smiling, but at least he wasn't a statue any more.

"That you got pizza."

* * *

15 minutes and three pizzas later, the four people in the Control Room realised how hungry they'd been all day – but the meal had been quiet, even for those as intent on their bellies as these for.

"I'm sorry guys," Jack piped up eventually, having swiped the last slice of BBQ Meatfeast.

From the way Jack had attacked that particular pizza, Al had gathered that it was a favourite, so he and the others had left him to it. Tina and he were sharing a Vegerama (with pepperoni – Tina's choice) and a Jalapeno Hotpot (Al's), while Gooshie was eating his usual. This was a pizza that Al always called 'seafood cardboard' – a thin-crust base with prawns, ground pepper, lemon juice... and nothing else. No cheese, no tomato, no sauce of any kind. Even Jack had been taken aback when he saw it, asking if they were going to complain, but the little man didn't just have bad breath – he had the food allergies from hell. He even drag 'soy decaf latte' coffee, which had been dubbed the 'why bother?' coffee by everyone else.

"Sorry for what?" Al asked when it became apparent that no one else would.

"The lockdown, being an ass, you know... being myself," The Colonel shrugged apologetically, if that were possible, and glanced around the table with a wry grin. "Good pizza by the way."

"Luigi's, San Antonio," Tina offered. Maybe she'd gotten over her Jack-phobia. "In case you're ever in the area again."

"Mm-hm," Jack answered, his tone masking by more chewing. "Thanks."

Silence fell over the Control Room yet again, interrupted only by Ziggy's flashing monitors and the pizza-chomping. Al knew that Ziggy would have preferred them to use the break room, but then she had imposed the rule that Jack shouldn't leave the Control Room herself – and Al still thought it was a good idea. He hadn't done everything they needed him to do yet, but he'd learnt his lessons and wasn't about to rush things a second time. Thankfully the rest of the crew seemed to be following his lead.

"So what do you know?" Jack asked a few minutes later, throwing his last crust back into the box.

"About what?" Al replied, hoping that he didn't sound too hopeful.

Jack's face wore a sarcastic expression. "About Barney the dinosaur, what do _you_ think?" He shook his head. "About me, dummy. About where I work. About what your man Sam is doing there."

"Oh," Al said, not sure if he was going to put another foot wrong. He still held his last slice of pizza, which gave him an idea. "Ziggy?" Yeh, she could do it – a man couldn't blame a computer for being frank and generally blasé could he? Al hoped not...

"Of course, Admiral. If you would like to keep that jalapeno away from my sensors, I will fill Colonel O'Neill in."

Al shared a look with Jack, who shrugged nonchalantly – though Al had a feeling that he was tense at the thought of finding out just what a super-intelligent computer could find out about him and his work. That was understandable, but he still hoped that the other man wouldn't flip his lid.

"Hit me with all you've got Z."

Ziggy began with her recitation of Jack's personal history, education and career, which he listened to without apparent interest until she reached the present day.

"We have meagre resources regarding your current employment, Colonel. The USAF personnel database lists you as second-in-command of a research facility within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, studying deep space telemetry 28 floors below ground, however requisition logs show an extremely well stocked infirmary on that level, as well as extensive weaponry. This does not 'make sense', as Admiral Calavicci describes it."

Al caught a small smile on Jack's face. "That's not bad going – anything else?"

"Yes, Colonel." Ziggy herself, of course, was almost casual in her presentation of their hard-won information. Al figured that she was probably annoyed that she hadn't found out more, but then she'd said herself that hacking into the Cheyenne Mountain mainframe would be a bad idea. "Dr Fisichella made an attempt to visit Dr Beckett as a hologram, however there was a great deal of interference. Four key phrases were obtained however, and we have been researching them."

"Uh-huh?"

"Stargate. Dr Daniel Jackson. Samantha Carter. Naquadah."

Whatever those words meant to Jack, Al wasn't sure – but his recognition was pretty obvious. Al got the feeling that this was the equivalent of someone sticking his name with Sam's and Gooshie's, plus the quantum leap accelerator and maybe 'parallel hybrid computer'. Maybe they were about to get some answers.

"We have established that Dr Jackson is a specialist in archaeology and linguistics," Ziggy continued. "– who now works for the Air Force in a consulting capacity. Background regarding his theories published up to and including 1996 have also been discovered, however little else is available – particularly regarding his whereabouts from early 1996 until early 1997."

Jack coughed. Al couldn't tell whether this was in surprise or relief. "Ok..."

"Samantha Carter is a Captain in the US Air Force and holds a doctorate in Astrophysics. Her presence within a deep space telemetry project would not be considered anomalous were it not for the association with yourself and Dr Jackson, neither of whom would otherwise appear to be normal choices for such an operation."

The Colonel was silent for a moment, looking at the screen showing Capt. Carter's photo before moving his gaze around the table. All eyes were on him.

When the silence dragged on, Al took a deep breath and plunged in. "Jack – you know what we know now, and it's not enough. Admittedly I haven't tried to reach Sam myself yet, and that would probably work a little better than it did with Gooshie, but we'd still be clueless. Ziggy needs information before she can plot a way for Sam to Leap, but we can't squeeze anything else out of our normal sources. This is too close to the present day, it's too classified... and I think you know that."

Jack snorted softly. "Yeh – and I think you've done pretty well with what you've got. Did you try getting into our computer systems?"

His near-smirk said that he assumed that they had – and that they had failed. Al decided to let Gooshie field that one.

"No, we didn't," the little man replied, satisfaction in his voice. "Not yet. Ziggy is certain that she could gain access, but is less sure that she'd be undetected. We may still try, if necessary."

"Sweet." The word's meaning didn't match his tone - evidently Jack wasn't best pleased with that news. "Good luck if you try."

"Can you help us?" This was from Tina, and Al shot her an irritated look. "What? We have to ask sometime, don't we?"

Al shook his head, imagining it all falling down around his ears, yet again, with Sam out in some godforsaken secret lab swimming for dear life...

"I guess so."

...and succeeding?

"Huh?" The look on his face must have been hilarious, because everyone laughed – even Gooshie. "I mean, um, you will?"

"Yeh..." Jack nodded. "But only as much as I have to. And I won't give you any passwords, ok Ziggy? Just the information I can remember, though I can't say that it will always make sense – that's Carter's field."

"Right," Al accepted, praying that it would be enough. "Fire away."

To his surprise, Jack coughed again and looked a little sheepish.

"What's the matter? Would you like some water?" That was Tina again, trying to be helpful presumably.

"Um, no. I... I, erm, just never had to tell anyone this before – not without approval, or without some sort of primer material. It's a bit... weird."

"We can take it, Jack – just look where we work," Al commented sarcastically. "If you can believe this, you can believe anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! Come on, get on with it will you?"

"Ok, you asked for it," Jack sighed. "You remember that mummy you told me about?"

"Hey, you don't have to go bringing him into this – and besides these guys don't know anything about it..." Al mumbled, feeling embarrassed and betrayed, ignoring the looks he was getting from Tina and Gooshie.

"He has everything to do with this, Al," Jack continued, undeterred. "Al saw a mummy come alive during some Leap when Sam was what? An archaeologist?" Gooshie nodded, evidently remembering the time. "Ok, well he was... um... an alien."

"A what?!" Al laughed, glad to steer the attention away from himself and praying that Jack was joking. He really didn't want to think about the consequences if this was the truth. "That was a mummy for crying out loud, he'd been buried for centuries – you have got to be kidding me."

Jack looked pissed now. "He was an alien, a Gould. Evil creatures who really do body snatch, in a way. They're parasites, snakes, that attach themselves to your brain stem and take over." Al was incredulous, and so were the others – he could tell. So could Jack, who looked mad now. "Look, you wanted me to believe in time travel right? I'm asking you to believe that aliens are out there and some of them really are trying to take the Earth back."

"Take the Earth back?" Gooshie asked, eyes wide.

"Yes back... They like to pose as gods, and most of them have names like Ra and Osiris – like the ones in the old stories," Jack sounded impatient himself now. "Their weapons and technology are enough to convince most planets to worship them, or at least fear them, especially when they start using a ribbon device like your friend the mummy, Al. And I can tell you from personal experience that it hurts like nothing else." He spread his hands. "You'll either believe me or you won't, but I am telling you the truth. The Gould used to harvest slaves from Earth, but 5000 years ago we kicked them off the planet."

"So your friend Dr Jackson was right?"

"Yes!" Jack stared Gooshie right in the eye, while Al struggled against what he believed was an impossible idea. "Yes, you said you'd researched Daniel's work – he lost his job for even suggesting it, but now he knows he was right and the poor guy can't tell anyone, because it's a matter of national security."

"So where was he for that year that he vanished, Jack," Al asked, finally coming up with a coherent question but unsure that he'd enjoy the answer.

"A planet called Abydos," Jack replied, his expression totally sincere. "Look, I know you're having trouble with this but you're going to have to believe me. That was the suicide mission they needed me for: going to another planet to see what was there. We took Daniel because the technology had hieroglyphics all over it, we found out about Ra and killed him, then came home – but Danny decided to stay."

"Ok, assuming you're telling the truth," Al couldn't admit the possibility just yet. What he needed was a cigar. "– how did you get to this planet? I've been to the moon and that was a loooong trip – I also know that it would take even longer to get to Mars, let alone a planet near a different star."

"The million dollar question, and you already know the word: Stargate. It's a device made by a race of aliens called the, um... Ancients. Network of big metal circle thingies made of – you've guessed it – naquadah, their favourite metal. There're lots of them on all kinds of different planets, though a vast number of them are covered in trees which gets annoying after a while..." He caught himself. "I'm rambling like Daniel now, aren't I? Anyway, you dial up where you want to go and it creates a wormhole that looks like a giant puddle. Step through and you're there." Jack paused, taking in the looks around him. "I told you that this was Carter's specialty, not mine."

"And these Ancients are another bunch of aliens?" Al asked, clinging to the first point that he'd gotten stuck at in case the second washed him away someplace. Jack nodded. "So we have the Gould? And the Ancients?"

"Yes, though they actually evolved here on Earth..." Jack must have caught Al's extra-speedy confusion vibes because he caught himself and moved on. "– and there's the Asgard, like my buddy Thor. They're little grey men, like the ones at Roswell – I shouldn't say this but Area 51 is real, it's the Groom Lake Facility at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada."

"Uh... huh... any more?"

"Nox, Furlings, Tollans, others... A lot of them are just humans who got shifted around by the Gould. You don't need to know about all of them though, right?"

"...right..."

Spots were now swimming in front of Al's eyes, and Tina was clutching his hand tightly enough to make the joints crunch together – she probably thought the good Colonel had gone loopy again. He certainly appeared to believe what he was saying... and Ziggy wasn't contradicting a thing.

"Ziggy?!" Al was sad to hear that his voice had taken on a tone of panic.

"Yes, Admiral," she replied, calm as ever. It was at times like this that he wanted to ask whether she had an 'emotion' chip like Data on Star Trek. "If you wish to know whether I can corroborate Colonel O'Neill's claims now that we have further information, I am afraid that the answer is negative. The only thing that I can confirm is that the project on Level –28 of Cheyenne Mountain –"

"The SGC. Stargate Command," Jack interrupted.

"Thank you Colonel." So much for calm, she sounded a little irritated now – maybe because here was a nut she couldn't crack. "As I was saying, the SGC is a highly classified project that reaches to the highest levels."

Jack raised a hand like a kid in a classroom, presumably mindful of not annoying the supercomputer any further.

"Yeh, Jack?" Al asked, praying that he'd laugh and tell them it was all a big joke.

"Kinsey – our good friend Bob?" Jack waited, and Al eventually nodded. "Not that he'd admit it to you, but the President put a gagging order on him when he found out about the Stargate. He wanted to close us down, but the good old Commander in Chief agreed with General Hammond that this would be a bad idea – which was great because otherwise we'd all be space dust by now. That's a major reason why he can't stand me, my team, or my base."

A cough. "Sam."

Al turned to look at Gooshie, who looked strangely normal... though on the other hand, his normal was other people's weird. "Yes Goosh?" At least he himself didn't sound quite so panicked now – he hoped.

"Sam's there, Al – wherever there is. He's been there for 24 hours. If we can reach him, he'll be able to confirm or deny... this."

The programmer grinned weakly – and Al sighed with mixed relief (at the common sense of Gooshie's words) and despair (at the utter joy on Gooshie's eyes when Tina landed him a big sloppy kiss).

"Ok, let's do this thing," he announced, taking control of his project once again. "Jack, you stay here with the others while I go to the Imaging Chamber – hopefully he'll be easier to reach this time."

"I live off-base," Jack pointed out. "But then they've probably caught him out by now, so he might be in an isolation chamber while they decide whether or not I've been taken over by a Gould."

"Right," Al glared at Jack, taking out his anxiety on the Leapee. They were moving, but Jack's habit of pointing out potential disasters in a sarcastic-casual kind of way was definitely going to get on his nerves. "Well you'd better hope that that isn't the case Colonel, because it'll make all our lives that extra bit harder. We'll just lock in on Sam and hope that he's on the surface then. Ok Ziggy?"

"You have a go, Admiral."

Al took a last bite of pizza and stared at Jack, almost hoping that he'd see a flicker of laughter in his eyes – but he didn't.


	18. Return of the Hologram

Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be.

Reviewers: Ta muchly, as ever :) Here, have a double chocolate chip cookie!!!

Regards my portrayal of Gooshie (and Tina), the reason I started making them active participants in the story was because I always planned to have this fic half-PQL/half-SGC, and if I'd stuck with just Jack and Al at PQL there'd be a lot less variety than in the SGC with Sam & Co... Gooshie and Tina were ideal choices to balance the numbers, but of course that does mean using characters that I know very little about. I can only remember seeing Gooshie in are the first episode, the last, and a couple in between – that's it, and he didn't get much screen time even then (shame)! And I saw even less of Tina... I'm sure there's more about them in the books, but I've never read a single one, so what we're left with is me filling in my self-imposed blanks. With any luck it won't be too much of a gamble :)

NB. I have never ever been to Colorado Springs so I don't know my way around there, and have never bought a pint of milk in the US... so if the price and/or place are wrong, sorry...

P.S. Anyone reading this in the UK? There was a programme called 'Holiday Showdown' on ITV1 last night (Thurs 14 Oct 04), starring my crazy aunt and uncle as the 'posh' southerners... very funny cos the only thing posh about them is their accents. Anyway, Fiona (of the lunatic laugh and 'Wild Thing' karaoke) will be on 'Harry Hill Live' next week as well – that woman needs an agent! I love her to bits and can't wait to see it, but it's such a relief to have a different surname :)

* * *

**Colorado Springs – 20th September 1998**

**Sam Beckett's POV**

The dark green Ford truck meandered through the suburbs of Colorado Springs somewhat aimlessly. It changed lanes for no apparent reason, passed the same row of shops no less than three times, and even hesitated at an intersection when the light was green – which earned the driver a few hoots from the impatient BMW behind. There was no sign that he was drunk or dangerous though, since the truck stayed on or near the speed limit at all times – but he did seem to be lost.

Eventually the truck pulled up at the row of shops and a man with greying hair and an Air Force uniform stepped out carefully, propping himself up with a pair of crutches. He put the keys in his pocket and fished out a wallet, stared at his licence, then took a deep breath and walked into the convenience store – wincing with every step.

"Lost?"

The driver, who was now looking deep into the milk fridge, turned his head sharply and banged his head on the cold door. Laughing, he reached back into the fridge and grabbed a pint of skimmed milk. He put it on the counter and shared a smile with the owner, an elderly gent who was probably due for retirement but seemed very at ease in his environment. It wasn't a 7-Eleven or any other chain store, just a little mom-and-pop venture that made Sam feel at ease.

"Lost in more ways than one by the look of it," he grinned, happy to be unknown and free of the need to 'be' Jack O'Neill. This guy didn't know him from a bar of soap, and after the day he'd had that was a welcome relief. "How much is that?"

"40 cents," the old fella replied. "Here, have a lollypop."

"A lollypop?" Sam was momentarily confused, then remembered his crutches. "Oh, for these?"

The shop owner chuckled, holding out the jar of Chupa-Chups. "Yeh, I give one to all the kids when they come in injured."

Sam couldn't help but laugh with him as he laid the money on the counter and picked out a cola flavoured lolly. "Yeh, well... an injury through one's own stupidity shouldn't be rewarded, and I'm not exactly a kid these days – but thank you kindly."

"You're younger'n me, and that's all the counts," came the reply. "Bert's the name. Now, where're you headed, son?"

"1099 Westfield Drive – can you give me directions? I'd be really grateful if you could, Bert. I'm... um... Jack, by the way."

Bert exploded into a fit of laughter. "Westfield Drive? Over Broadmoor way?"

"Erm... yeh?"

"Hell, no wonder you've been going in circles! I guess you flyboys are all too far up in the clouds to look at normal maps, right?" Bert wheezed and stopped to catch his breath. "Oh dear... now, Westfield Drive. If you head down to the junction by the Coca-Cola sign there, take a left and head out for about 10 miles –"

"10 miles?" Sam exclaimed. "I was a long way off wasn't I? Ok, then where?"

"Take a right at the Wal-Mart... and then... aw hell, it's been forever since I was out that way. Let me get a map out." The old-timer lent beneath the counter and pulled out a raggedy old map, flicking to the rear index then locating the page for Sam. "I hope this isn't too out of date... see here? That's where the Wal-Mart is, and here –" he pointed, "– is Westfield Drive."

"Can I borrow that a moment?" Sam asked, keen to memorise the map as best he could.

The last half-hour had been quite embarrassing, driving around in Jack's truck trying to find 'home'. At least Carter was giving all three men a lift this evening, having decided to stay at the base a while longer and planning to head in there early the next morning... no alcohol for her tonight. Of course, getting a lift from Jack's house involved finding it in the first place, Sam reminded himself. That and it would be nice to have time for a shower before the next round of play-acting...

"If you're having trouble with directions, I should be able to help you out," a long-awaited voice said, with an extremely happy undertone.

"Al!" Sam cried out, earning him a strange look from Bert. "I mean, _I'll_ be able to get there in no time now – thanks for the directions, and the lollypop!"

"Any time," the other man replied, raising his eyebrow as his strange customer stuffed the milk and candy in his pockets and made his way out of the shop.

Sam moved as quickly as a person with very little experience of crutches could, wincing now and then. His initial elation at finally seeing Al had been replaced by resentment that it had taken him so long.

"Where have you been?!" he whispered angrily, bleeping the truck's central locking open.

"What the hell happened to you?" Al returned, indicating the crutches.

Sam glared at him and climbed into the truck, started the engine and put it into 'drive'; thankful yet again that it was an automatic. If it hadn't been Daniel would have won the argument and driven him home himself, making it that much harder if Al turned up while he was on the surface. Sam was still pissed that it had taken his friend so long to appear though, especially after his frustrating 30 minutes of complete disorientation. He should have guessed that a man's man like Jack O'Neill wouldn't carry something useful like a road map in the glove compartment!

Outside the truck, Al sighed heavily and pressed a few buttons on his hand link. He disappeared and reappeared as if seated in the passenger seat, the hologram image moving at the same speed as the truck.

"Ok, Sam – I'm sorry. We had a little trouble back at the ranch. That and young Jack here is a bit of a handful," Al apologised. "Ziggy had a lot of trouble getting to Gooshie to you earlier as well."

Sam's suspicions were confirmed, but he found it hard to let go of his frustration so quickly. "I've been on the surface for over half an hour now Al, as well as 24 hours without a clue of what I'm meant to be doing."

"Right," his friend admitted, frowning at his handset as he prodded a few more buttons. "Ziggy! Make sure we don't make a wrong turn, ok?"

"No need, Al," Sam growled softly, tapping his head. "I've already got the directions up here, remember? From the old guy at the shop?"

Al sounded a little pissy himself. "Slow up there, _Colonel_, or I'll start thinking you're picking up more Jack vibes than necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"I spent the first couple of hours of this morning being held hostage with a piece of glass, that's what I mean," he vented. "So we had a lockdown, as per procedure, which drew in the vultures from the Capitol – trying to pull out our funding and leave you stranded, once again – and Ziggy's all in a tizz because she can't get any info on this Leap other than by pumping Jack... who is also having trouble with the whole deal, by the way."

Sam glanced over at his friend and saw the stress in his eyes. Al was telling the truth. This Leap was obviously taking it out of everyone involved, not just him. "So we've both had a long day?"

"Too right..."

They came up to a red light and Sam braked smoothly. "How close to the present am I?" He asked, something that had been gnawing at him since he'd seen the level of technology at the base.

"Would you believe 5 days?" Al replied, a wry chuckle in his voice. "It's not like we don't have access to current databases, but you're... um... present assignment... is just a little bit classified."

"Tell me about it," Sam agreed, finally sharing a smile with his old friend. The light turned green and they pulled away. He sighed ruefully, realising that despite being so close to his real home he wasn't likely to get any closer – at least not during this Leap. "I just hope it's a short one, because I've been flying blind and it's only going to get harder."

Al looked alarmed. "What do you mean? Could they catch you out?"

"That too – did you get the message I wrote for Gooshie?"

"Yeh?"

"Well I got rid of it in a hurry and Daniel – that's Dr Jackson – found it. Now there's a squad of Marines searching high and low for the owner of the handwriting, plus all the lovely fingerprints I left in his office."

"Jeez..." Al paled. "Your prints and everything are on record, Sam. It might take them a while, but they'll find out you were there – but still, as far as they're concerned you're Jack O'Neill, right?"

"For now," Sam admitted, thinking about some of the strange looks he'd received from Daniel, Carter and Teal'c during the day. "But his team mates are pretty switched on – I think they know that something's up. So far I've got them believing that my little tumble last night has shaken me up, and thankfully the General has stood us down for a few days."

"Wait a minute, what _did_ happen with your leg? Did you twist your ankle or something?"

"Yeh – when I Leaped in I was running down a ramp and wasn't ready for it. I literally fell head over heels, nearly gave myself a concussion too. I've been in a wheelchair for most of today." Sam shook his head at the memory, then saw the big Wal-Mart and turned right. "How far is the house from here, Al?"

The handset bleeped. "Four blocks. Jack says it's a brown house with a brick walkway leading up to a landing, and there's large driveway on one side."

"That could be any of these houses, Al..."

They sat in silence for a moment, focussing on house numbers. Sam thought about what Al had said about their problems with Jack and Ziggy's inability to access useful information, then wondered if Al knew about the Stargate and everything that came with it yet. He didn't want to launch into that discussion while keeping an eye out for Jack's house though, else he'd end up back at the shop with Bert... Then again, if Jack was talking to Ziggy there was obviously more that had happened back at Project Quantum Leap than Al had told him so far, right?

Finally they drove past house 1081 and Sam slowed down to a crawl, eventually turning into the drive of a normal looking suburban home.

"Where's the field artillery, Jack?" Al called out, laughing. Sam shot him a look, which was returned with a shrug. "What? The guy used to be black ops, Sam – I wasn't expecting a picket fence type house, y'know?"

"Black ops means that you don't notice them, Al," he pointed out. "They're supposed to blend into the background, remember?" He was uneasy that his friend seemed to be on good terms with this guy, who had apparently held him captive using a makeshift weapon only a few hours ago.

Picking up his crutches, Sam opened the door and lowered himself onto the ground. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and wobbled his way up the pathway, up the extremely inconvenient steps, and finally reached the entrance to the house. Al, meanwhile, decided to walk straight through the walls and gave himself a tour of Jack's home.

"Nice house," he commented, surprising Sam no end by poking his head back through the door as he was fumbling with the keys.

"Is there an alarm?" Sam asked pointedly, finally locating the right key.

The handset bleeped. "Yep – code is 5432. Hey Jack, that's lame!"

Sam opened the door and shook his head, propping himself up on the wall as he turned off the burglar alarm. "Could you quiet down the friendly chitchat for a moment and tell me where the living room is please?"

"Oh, oh sure Sam – turn left and down... a step," Al replied, sympathetically. "Most other rooms seem to be on this level though, including the kitchen and bathroom."

"Hmm... I guess I'll be heading to the kitchen then," he decided, not too keen on trying out steps in a downward direction after having only just mastered upward movement.

A few moments later they were both in the kitchen, Sam sat at a small breakfast table, gazing through to the dining room and out into the garden. It was early evening, but there was still enough light to see the barbecue area. Sam pulled the pint of milk from his pocket, unscrewed the cap and drank deeply.

"Are you good? Good," Al commented. "Now shall we talk about why you're here?"

Down to business... Sam reminded himself wryly. "Yeh sure, but I should warn you that Captain Carter – whose name is also 'Sam' by the way, which is very confusing – is picking me up in a half hour to go to the movie theatre. I really need to have a shower before she gets here."

"A date? Already?" Al's eyes nearly boggled out of his head. "I've seen her photo – she's a hot one."

Sam laughed and shook his head. Al never changed. "Don't be stupid – she's Jack's 2IC! Besides, Daniel and Teal'c are coming too."

"Tee-uk?"

"Ah, so you don't know everything yet?" Sam's heart fell. It looked as though he was going to be here a long time, because if all they had to go on was his sketchy understanding of the SGC –

"We know some of it, but Jack's not letting us in on anything he doesn't have to," Al stated, and Sam's heart lifted a little. "So far he's told us about... um..."

"The Stargate?"

"Yeh," Al shuddered a little. "And the... er... Gould..."

"Actually I think it's Go-ah-ould, Al, but I've been trying to pronounce it like Jack."

"Uh-huh. Ok, well apart from that we have a bunch of confused people in the Control Room and one very confused Admiral in here because time travel is one thing and aliens is completely another!"

Sam cocked his head and looked at Al, who had now plucked a cigar from somewhere within his jacket and was chewing on the end absently. It looked like Ziggy was sticking by her no-smoking ban. He fought the urge to laugh, then decided that now wasn't the time.

"Al, this is a truly amazing Leap – you have to believe me. The things these people are working with every day... it's almost... unimaginable! I went into Carter's lab and saw what I thought were her own wormhole theories, but it wasn't. Not exactly. Al, she's trying to reverse-engineer something that she already knows works!" Sam couldn't help it, the enthusiasm was now streaming from every pore in his body and he desperately wanted Al to share in his joy. "These Ancients built the most incredible technology, and the Stargate – oh my God... you have to see it Al. Human beings, travelling all over the galaxy in an instant. Through controlled wormholes! That you can dial up, like a telephone! It's... fantastic!"

He stopped himself and took a deep breath, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

"I haven't been through it yet myself, but tomorrow morning..." Suddenly Sam sobered up, remembering his earlier worries about the assignment he and Teal'c had been given. "Al, they have me down for a very minor trip by their standards – to their training facility, what they call the Alpha site – but it's tomorrow morning. I'm going to another planet tomorrow morning at 8am!"

"What?" Al's voice was panicked, and he suddenly began pressing buttons on the hand link.

"Yeh, I know – it's great, it's brilliant – but I don't know whether you'll be able to visit me there. I mean the time thing isn't a problem, but interplanetary? Ziggy couldn't make it work in a million years."

"Ziggy agrees..." Al sounded dejected and totally hostile to the idea. Why? "Sam, you have to find a way to _not_ go on that mission – who knows what could happen? What about your ankle, you could use that as an excuse!"

"What do you mean, Al? I _have_ to go – if only for the experience – and the General's made it clear that he doesn't care two hoots whether I'm injured or not. No, that came out wrong – he's a good guy, what he meant was that the state of my ankle makes no difference to my – or rather, Jack's – ability to complete this assignment."

There was no way that Al was going to talk him out of this one, oh no. Not the chance to travel through a _wormhole_, to go to another _planet_. This was his Leap, and he was going to make the most of it...

"Sam," Al yelled warningly. "Jack's death was reported to the White House this morning, and without any other information we have to assume that that's why you're here! We can't afford to have you out of contact."

For a moment, Sam's resolve wavered. But just for a moment. "No."

Al did a double take. "What do you mean no?"

Sam's gaze grew hard. "I'm not going to let you stand in the way of this. For all we know Jack's death could have taken place _after_ he got back from the Alpha site – it's only a 2-day mission after all. If I'm 5 days behind you, there's enough time for it to be something other than this training assignment – we should stick with whatever Jack's supposed to be doing until we know otherwise."

"What?"

"I said –"Sam began to repeat his tirade.

"No, not you – Jack's saying something."

Al was obviously listening to a voice from the Control Room and Sam quashed a feeling of resentment. Maybe his Leapee was agreeing with him.

"Jack wants to know what you're meant to be doing on the Alpha site – he knew that SG1 were going to be stood down for a few days, but that mission wasn't on the cards before," Al paused. "Sam, maybe your injury changed things already! But wait, according to Ziggy, Jack still dies..."

"Al, you can tell Jack that it's nothing to do with me tripping down the ramp. Two of the other SG teams were attacked by Yu's Jaffa, so General Hammond wants to accelerate the new recruits' training by bringing him and Teal'c in for a couple of days," Sam explained hurriedly. "We just happened to be... in the area!"

His friend looked confused, but seemed to be listening to another reply from beyond the Imaging Chamber. "Jack says good luck with the baby sitting, and let Teal'c do the hard work. It makes sense, you don't have any direct experience of these Gould yourself... say, what the hell is a Jaffa anyway – that's the second time you've mentioned them."

"Uh... they're like humans, only they're not," Sam replied, trying to figure out a good way to put this. "The Goa'uld use them as incubators for their larvae, until they're big and bad enough to be able to er..."

"Body snatch?"

"Yeh, that's about it. Anyway, these Jaffa get extra strength and healing from these symbiotes in return, so they're also the Goa'uld's soldiers – although there are some rebels, like Teal'c for instance."

Al blinked rapidly. "Wait a second, you're saying that there's a real live alien wandering around Colorado?"

"Uh-huh, but apparently they call him 'Murray' when he's on the surface." Sam glanced at the clock and blinked, suddenly realising the time. He made as if to stand up – bad idea. He fell back on the chair wincing in excruciating pain. "Oh boy... Dr Fraiser is going to hate me in the morning... Ouch... Where did you say the bathroom was, Al? I need a shower before the guys get here – and a change of clothes. There is no way I'm going to the movies and O'Malleys, wherever that is, dressed like this. Though I do wish I'd brought the wheelchair in the truck now."

"Um... through there," Al pointed, but Sam didn't move. The hologram's eyes had glazed over.

"Al?" He waved. "Al?"

"Huh?" His friend almost jumped.

Sam grinned. "Just hit you has it – the reality of all this extraterrestrial stuff?"

"Yeh... I mean, I knew space was big and all around us... I've seen a bit of it myself... but this isn't quite the same, y'know?"

"I know," Sam nodded, then asked something he was extremely confused by. "One question though: if Jack held you hostage this morning, what on earth is he doing in the Control Room now?"

Al had the grace to blush a little. "Long story... this morning was a normal reaction for someone with his training really, and eventually we... er... managed to resolve our differences. But by that time Senator Kinsey of the vulture brigade was on his way, so we did a deal with Jack. He would convince Kinsey that we'd finally picked up someone 'important' – by his standards – and in return we would, erm... let him out of the Waiting Room. As a bonus he's also helping us with our little intelligence failure on this one, since he wants to get out of there just as much as you do Sam."

"If you say so, Al," Sam replied, not so sure himself. "I'd love the chance to stay here and study the Stargate – it'd be almost as good as developing the quantum leap accelerator was." He caught a glare from Al and shrugged. "I'm a quantum physicist, Al – what do you want me to say? That I want to run away from the most advanced piece of technology on this planet? And the things that Daniel's studying? My God, Al – that's mind-blowing enough all by itself. The poor guy knows that archaeologists the world over are theorising in totally the wrong direction and he can't tell anyone about it!"

"Hmph." Al didn't appear to be quite so understanding of the fact that this Leap had captured Sam's heart.

Sam tapped his fingers on the breakfast table, knowing that Al was first and foremost a military man, and secondly man in charge of a scientific facility. Being his friend came somewhere in all of that, but above all was his sense of duty – particularly when it came to Sam. He was grateful for it, particularly when he heard about the troubles they occasionally had back at the Project, but sometimes he just wished for a strings-free Leap... especially if it was one like this!

"Who do Jack pretend to be for our favourite Senator then?" He asked, diverting the conversation just a little.

Al snorted. "Himself, a couple of years back – can you believe it? Turns out Jack was a big part of how this SGC place came together, so it was only a short jump to convincing Kinsey the purse-pincher that if Jack's life had never led him through a Stargate... well, the SGC might not be there."

"Really?" Sam was incredulous. "He's got it in for them hasn't he? Though I can certainly believe it – that place has got to cost upwards of $5 billion a year!"

"$7.3 billion at last count..." Al murmured, a small smile on his face. "The guy lapped it right up and went on his way."

"Hmph – sounds about right," Sam commented. He had never met this Kinsey guy himself, but he did remember his predecessor Senator Weitzman. It always seemed to be power-mad politicians who tweaked the moneybags, thinking more about their own prestige than the overall benefits of this sort of work.

Sam glanced back at Al slowly and fixed him in his gaze. "I'm still going to go tomorrow – you do realise that, don't you? There's no way you're going to like it, I know – but you can't stop me. Besides," he pointed out, thinking of a more reasonable excuse than 'because it's there'. "– if I stay at the SGC much longer I'll put myself in greater danger of being found out, especially if they start making people do handwriting tests or taking new prints."

"They wouldn't do that!" Al mocked lightly, worriedly. "They already have Jack's files!"

Sam shook his head. "They know that, but they are also extremely paranoid about _everything_. This is a base that understands about body-snatching aliens, invisible aliens, rogue sections of their own government... it's only a matter of time before some sort of testing becomes mandatory on this case, especially if they recognise my prints."

A thought struck him from the blue.

"Hey, no-one's been asking about my whereabouts in the last few days have they? I am still listed as being a Navy employee at Stallions Gate, aren't I?"

"Yeh, and you're getting paid for it," Al grimaced. "Another drain on our budget... only 50 salary though, since you're not actually there. Should be a nice little nest egg by the time you get back either way. But no, no one's been asking after you. Maybe it will clear up by itself then!"

"...and maybe it won't," Sam reminded him gently. "Either I or Jack could get killed just as easily while locked up someplace as off-world, don't you think? On a base like that?"

Al screwed his face up, the cigar pointing downwards as his bit down hard on it. "You might be right, but there's no point in taking unnecessary risks and I can at least keep track of you while you're on Earth. These aliens give me the willies too."

"Yeh, well you haven't met one yet – and Teal'c seems like a nice enough guy... if hard to read. Apparently he _loves_ Star Wars, can you imagine that?" Sam chuckled. "That's what we're seeing tonight: Return of the Jedi."

"Great... cute teddy-bear aliens and a big explosion." Al joked sarcastically, then cocked his head to one side as he listened to the Control Room again. "Jack says the Darth Vader does a pretty good impression of a Gould – sorry, Sam – Goa'uld's voice."

"Really?" Sam considered this. "I wonder if George Lucas knows something. But anyway, there aren't any Goa'uld at the Alpha site... and the only scary alien there will be Teal'c if he decides to go ahead with his shock tactics and fire his staff weapon at the students."

"O... K...," Al replied, a nervous look in his eyes. "Well you go ahead and have that shower, Sam – you can't have much time left, right? I'll head back and see what else we can come up with, but either way I'll visit you again later. May as well make the most of it while you're still on the surface of this _planet_... Jeez that's weird to say..."

Sam nodded, remembering the blur that had been Gooshie earlier on. "Definitely. I'll keep play-acting Jack, but hopefully between the cinema and this O'Malleys place I shouldn't have too much trouble. Dark and noisy, an excellent camouflage don't you think?"

"Yeh, whatever you say Sam – just keep out of trouble, and watch that ankle of yours ok?" The shining light of the Imaging Chamber door slid open behind the other man.

"Sure thing, Al. Say hi to the team for me – and see you later." Sam grinned nervously as the door closed, remembering exactly how little they knew about this Leap and how much potential danger he was in this time. It was at least as bad as that Leap to Vietnam... if not worse.

He reached round the chair for his crutches and began to pull himself up slowly, then found his pants caught on the chair somehow. What?

Sam looked down – he couldn't see any splinters or nails, but it was going to take some serious jiggling to release a hand to feel around for whatever was trapping his pants. He leant back on the table awkwardly, trying to prop the other side of his body up with one crutch while keeping his bad ankle off the ground, his free hand searching for the offending bit of chair.

"Got it!" He mumbled victoriously, finally feeling the patch that was caught... on... what was that?

Then it struck him – it must have fallen out when he pulled the milk bottle from his pocket and somehow fallen on his seat... a warm and sticky Chupa-Chup.


	19. Top Secret

Disclaimer: If I ever created a TV series, it probably wouldn't be set in the US since I know very little about the place...

Reviewers: merci bien, mes amis – vous êtes fantastiques! Apologies for the delay, but it was another of those weeks... that and I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter (hence its short length). The treat of the day is some Kiwi "lolly cake", which is full of sugar and very more-ish.

technetium: thank you very much for your comments! You're right, Jack isn't very engineer-ish, but to be an officer in the military he does need a degree. I guessed that Aero Eng was probably a common one for the Air Force, and that would have been a good 25 years ago. He's had a while to get corrupted into his current 'doohickey' ways, hehe. Re the Leapee's memory & changing history... well I have to admit that this was me trying to sort it all out in my own head. A proper in-depth analysis of the series probably wouldn't agree, but since Jack would have needed an explanation I came up with one so I wouldn't trip over my own feet later in the story :)

P.S. Yes, Kinsey will be back :) But not yet!

* * *

**September 25th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Jack's POV**

"No! No way!"

Jack banged his fist on the table as the two men glared at each other. Gooshie tactfully ignored the disagreement by leaning closer towards his screen, while Tina clenched her fists in the corner.

"Don't you want to Leap out of here?" Al growled.

"Damn straight! But what I want is not the issue," Jack pointed out for the umpteenth time, and becoming more impatient by the minute. "The _issue_ is that the SGC is a highly classified project with a very, very short command chain. General Hammond to the Joint Chiefs to the President. I will neither break nor betray that chain by giving you any more information than you actually need!"

"We _need_ anything and everything that could help Sam stay alive and in one piece on that planet!"

"He's a smart man, as far as you've told me – he can handle himself!"

"Not in this he can't!"

"Oh no? So why is he so keen to crack on?"

"Because he's like a kid in a sandpit and you know it, Jack," Al clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times. "I can't stop him from stepping through that Stargate, but I do want him to come back!"

Jack shrugged casually. It wasn't every day that he got to yell at a two-star Admiral with little or no chance of disciplinary consequences. "He'll come back all right, one way or another."

"Alive?"

"Probably."

It was Al's turn to bang the table. "Damn it Jack, can't you see that your own life is at stake here? Or are you so brainwashed that it doesn't matter any more?"

Jack laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. "Al, I've come close to dying so many times that it really isn't that much of a problem any more. Sure I want to live, but if I weigh my life against all those other lives I really am not worth it."

"There's got to be some value to keeping you alive if Sam's supposed to save your life..." Tina pointed out, her voice quiet in contrast to those of the two men arguing.

"All the more reason to keep the status quo, my dear. If whatever it is that's bouncing your good friend around in time did send him in to save me, he, she or it would have already known what I'm like." An idea struck him; a potentially illogical one, but something all the same. "Besides, if it is fate that's keeping him going – sorry, I just don't have tome for the God theory these days – then fate will also want to keep Dr Beckett alive, right?"

"Um..." Tina obviously wasn't as good at quick comebacks as her partner was.

"Sure, that's always a possibility," Al conceded, though his eyes were still flashing fire. "But this is the most dangerous situation we've ever faced and I do _not_ like the idea of sending him in blind."

"We back to the beginning again, Al," Jack smiled sarcastically, wagging his finger at the other man. "Dr Beckett may be limping, but he's not blind. He knows where he is," Jack began ticking points off on his hand. "He's obviously had access to either a computer or some report files because he has a fair idea of what's going on at the SGC. He will have the support of Teal'c while off-world, and to be honest if it's shock tactics that the General wants, it's a few home truths from a Jaffa that he actually means. I'd be there for decoration only, especially in a wheelchair. And finally, he's managed ok so far. There's no proof that he's about to get caught as far as I'm concerned."

Jack sat back, a smug look on his face. This sparring game was fun, but it was getting boring – and either way, Al was not going to win. If need be he could keep going until the cows came home... or Dr Beckett, whichever happened first.

"What about the fingerprints, and the handwriting?" Al changed tack a little. "Sooner or later they'll have a match, and it'll all be out in the open."

"Yeh well, there are enough files on that database that it could take days – and I'm willing to take that chance," Jack crossed his arms and stuck his feet up on the table. "In the meantime, if he's off-world he won't be spreading many more clues around will he?"

Ziggy bleeped a warning. "You may continue to joust with Admiral Calavicci as much as you desire Colonel, however if you persist in using my tertiary processing unit as a footrest I assure you that you will receive an electric shock."

Jack suppressed his instinct to get away from the danger as quickly as possible, his head thinking that this might be a chance to demonstrate how tough he was. After a ribbon device, an electric shock should be a walk in the park – and he doubted that a high-powered computer like Ziggy wanted to short out her own systems.

He levelled his gaze at what appeared to be her main unit. "Make me."

Al rolled his eyes. "Don't worry about it Ziggy, he's too much of a tough guy for that. Probably electrocutes his sensitive parts for a good time."

"Ooh, getting personal now are we?" Jack commented pettily, thinking that Al must be floundering if he was becoming that unprofessional. "I can go back to the Waiting Room if you like, Z?"

"I don't understand!"

This small whisper came from Tina, who was now hovering at Al's shoulder and looking at Jack as if he was about to jump over the table and... do something hostile. Jack didn't like this look – it reminded him too much off the look that people on Goa'uld-infested planets gave SG1 when they arrived.

"What don't you understand?" He asked in a more normal voice, hoping that he didn't sound too patronising. She was a lot smarter than she acted, allegedly.

Al and Tina shared a look, and the Admiral nodded that she should continue.

"Well... you've told us a bit about the Stargate and the SGC already... so we already know about it right?" She bit her lip and glanced away momentarily. "We know about the aliens too. I know that's only the basics, and we're not asking for _everything_... just enough to keep us going for a few days."

"Security is always in the detail, Tina," Jack explained as patiently as he could. "Would you give me the schematics to Ziggy's systems? Or to the Quantum Leap Accelerator?"

Tina's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in suspicion.

"See? That's exactly how I feel about telling you more about the SGC!"

"But we've let you read Ziggy's logs of what Sam's been up to all these years – can't you tell us about some of your own missions?" Tina pleaded.

Jack shook his head. "Tina, that's half the problem. Anything I tell you will be recorded by Ziggy, right Z?"

"Correct, Colonel," Ziggy's voice answered, her tone surprisingly close to 'depressed'. "I can also confirm what I believe you are implying – I do retain my records despite shifts in the timeline, and certain authorised personnel do have the duty of reviewing those records from time to time."

Tina wasn't done yet. "I could remove them!"

"Honey, no," Al interrupted her, though his eyes were still on Jack. "You know that Ziggy has safeguards against tampering, and we can't even turn her off or do maintenance without permission from the Pentagon – in triplicate!"

"Right," Jack agreed. Finally they got it. "And once someone's read it, even if that section goes classified, someone like Admiral Calavicci here might get _ordered _to spit it out. Hell, Kinsey might take a look and find out we played him for a fool – or an alternate him... or something."

He pressed his lips shut, not wanting to tie himself in a knot and undo the good work that had just been done. Eat your heart out Daniel, I'm trying to be diplomatic and subtle. Honest.

The only sound in the room was Gooshie's clattering on the keyboard, and he seemed oblivious to the argument boiling around him. Maybe he was like Daniel when he'd first started at the SGC, leaving the alpha males to their chest-beating, but he figured he was more like Carter with a science project... or maybe Felger. Yep, it was the genes that did it: this was Felger in 30 years.

"If you makes you feel better, it's nothing personal. I wouldn't tell anyone else either," Jack offered, finally getting antsy with the prolonged and awkward silence.

Al raised an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks. We were only trying to save your life. Wait!" He raised a hand to quash Jack's reply before it started. "I understand. I do. It's just... urgh!"

Jack nodded sagely. He knew how that felt. "I'm with you there buddy."

Tina was still glaring over Al's shoulder. Jack returned the glare – she had no right to blame him for doing his job, as far as he was concerned. The Admiral must have caught the look, because he turned round in his chair and took her hands in his.

"Look sweetheart, I'll put it another way for you. What do you think people would do if they found out that time travel was possible?"

She screwed her mouth up – if she was smart, it was computer-smart only, Jack decided. Al didn't exactly wait for an answer either.

"They might get scared, right? Some of them might want to try it for themselves?"

"Uh-huh."

"And maybe people would fight over how to use it? Yeh? Ok – all of these things would interfere with our work here, which is getting Sam from one Leap to the next and hopefully helping a big ol' cascade of bystanders every time, right?"

"Right..."

"Jack here is worried that the same might happen to his work, and you know what – he's right –"

"But Sam needs –!" Tina interjected.

"Sam needs help, but not at that kind of cost babe!"

"But we wouldn't tell anyone!"

Jack watched on, glad that Al was supporting him but not so glad that it might become a sticking point with the couple. He made a decision.

"Ok campers, listen up. I'm guessing that no one knows about this Leaping malarkey that shouldn't? Ok. Well, that's what we thought about the SGC – at least, we thought that everyone had been vetted well enough. Unfortunately it's a bigger project, and with more people you get more opinions on how to run the place."

He fell silent for a moment, trying to figure out whether any of this was sinking in. Al was, Tina looked a little sulky, and Gooshie was still in his corner. Good enough.

"Right. What we have right now is a General who believes that we go through the Stargate to fight the Gould and make friends with people on other planets, especially any people who have better technology than us." Jack took a breath and shook his head. This was hard enough to admit inside the SGC, let alone to near-strangers. "Unfortunately we believe – no, we know – that there are some people who aren't playing nicely. As far as they're concerned, making allies is secondary to getting the technology. This is why secret projects are secrets, and why sometimes – just sometimes – military dictatorships are a good thing. Understood?"

He finished, suddenly realising that he'd lapsed into 'lecturing' mode. That aspect of his personality didn't get let out very much these days, unless Daniel wondered off and fell into a hole... or if he was babysitting new recruits.

Hmm. An idea.

"I do have one suggestion though, um, sir," Jack smiled brightly, trying to avoid the weird look he was getting from Tina. If she was only computer-smart, not people-smart, that would still make her smarter than him according to most of Daniel's comments. Ungh.

"Yeh?" Al looked amused at the fact that he was being addressed as a superior officer.

"You, um... you've been on a few classified and military type missions before right?"

"Yes..."

"And fired a weapon, gone into space, been tortured, all that good stuff?"

"Mm-hmm..."

"Well, then – your man Sam doesn't need me, he needs you!"

Al looked a little incredulous. "Jack, the last time I was in a war zone was the early 70s! And a space shuttle isn't exactly a transporter-type doo-hickey like what you have!"

Jack was impressed. He'd finally found someone else who used the word doo-hickey in everyday conversation. Fantastic.

"Some difference – imagine some weird-ass g-force with lotsa bright lights around you and you're there. As for the combat, Jaffa aren't all that different to say the Viet Cong... well, they are taller and really strong, in fact some of them are huge, plus they have some great firepower, but otherwise they're just like us. Piece of cake!"

"I've never taught anyone!"

"Don't worry, I'm not that hot at it either - not with my winning personality and endless patience," Jack pointed out.

Al still didn't look so keen, so Jack shot him a benevolent smile that said 'this is all you're going to get buddy!'

"It's not like Dr Beckett's headed into a proper hostile situation, Al," he reminded the other man. "Just give him some pointers, suggest he plays on the bad leg, and get Teal'c to do the hard work. Maybe tell him that the curricu-whajimmy would sound better from a Jaffa, explaining the other side's point of view, mindset, all that kinda weird. He'll be back in no time!"

"In a wheelchair or on a gurney?"

Mmm. Tough one.

"He'll be back in no time," Jack repeated with a vacant yet amiable grin, taking comfort in his memories of a 'How to Inspire Difficult Personnel' course he'd been sent on years ago. Good old officer training.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Al replied, rolling his eyes. "No, really – I get it. Maybe I should go do some revision... Now, how long do you think we have before they get out of the movie theatre?"

Jack glanced at the clock. "They're on the time as us, right?"

Al nodded.

"They'll probably be in O'Malleys in around a half hour, but they won't be done with food for about an hour after that – what?" Jack caught a strange look from Al. "Hey, I don't know about you but it's a bad idea to get between me and a meal, especially if I've been watching a movie on a diet of air-filled popcorn."

The other man held his hands up in surrender. "Ok, so I have an hour and a half before it's officially safe to visit Sam? Ok. So what will you do?"

"Watch the Simpsons?"

"Figures," Al shrugged. "I, erm, might visit you later to ask for a few more pointers on what kind of pointers I should be giving Sam, ok?"

"I guess – it may not get you anywhere though."

"Fine thing."

Jack stood up to return to the Waiting Room, wishing that he could say more but knowing that it just wasn't possible. His eyes met Al's and the other man gave him a slight nod. At least someone here understood.


	20. At Home With SG1

**This is the 2nd upload of Chapter 20 – no plot differences, I just re-read it and realised there were some mistakes!**

Disclaimer: yes, I am the genius who came up with the idea of both Quantum Leap and Stargate!!!! What? You don't believe me? Curses, foiled again...

Reviewers: the treat of the day is a bar of Green & Black's Organic Dark Chocolate with Orange and Spices. That stuff is pure heaven, and a single nibble has more intense chocolatey-ness that a whole kilo of Dairy Milk (I kid you not). I think it may even have cured me of Double Decker cravings!!

Superfan – thank you! And you know what, I only discovered that lil 'anonymous reviews' checkbox by accident – trust me, excluding them was not intentional. I spent most of the last year leaving reviews without signing in... maybe I was just dumb enough to tick that box back when I first registered :(

P.S. I've got my storyline almost completely planned out now, and it's a long one. So much for an easy start to my fanfic career! Hope you stick along for the ride anyway :)

P.P.S. I have just rediscovered Mozilla – why did I ever neglect to download it on my last computer??? Wonderful, wonderful browser, especially with all the tabs so I don't clog up my taskbar. Go forth and try it out!

* * *

**Colorado Springs – 20th September 1998**

**Sam Carter's POV**

Sam cracked her neck awkwardly and glanced at her teammates. They all seemed engrossed in watching the end of Star Wars: Teal'c bowing respectfully as the 'ghosts' of dead Jedi appeared, Daniel watching the Ewoks like they were a real culture he might meet someday, and Jack – _damn it! _– Colonel O'Neill with a silly grin on his face. That guy really was a sucker for happy endings. No matter how hard she tried though, that so-called popcorn machine kept bouncing its way back into her mind and she could not concentrate on what should be a relaxing night out. The sight of a real popcorn machine in the lobby had sent her thoughts straight back to her lab and that _gadget_ that was a riddle that she was still unable to solve. In her mind the task was nearing the slippery slope from intriguing to exasperating, especially now that it threatened to ruin a fun evening. Maybe she would try taking it behind the Stargate tomorrow, as the translation seemed to suggest... but no, General Hammond had forbidden that.

"Sam?"

She looked around quickly, snapping out of her frustrated reverie. "Huh?"

"The movie's ended," Daniel pointed out, his eyes twinkling.

Maybe he thought she'd fallen asleep or something, or perhaps he found it funny that an astrophysicist would zone out so completely during a movie about space. Personally she still found it weird that Darth Vader sounded so like a Goa'uld... that and she had other things on her mind. She glanced toward the screen, realising that the place was almost empty and the credits were scrolling their way through innumerable electricians and camera operatives.

"Oh yeh," was her lame response, accompanied by a grin.

She looked to her right and saw that Teal'c and the Colonel had already left their seats. Well, Teal'c had but Jack – _Colonel O'Neill!_ – had been in his wheelchair the whole time. Jeez it was hard dealing with a team that felt like family, calling two out of the three by their first name (in Teal'c's case, his only name), and having to remember that the third should be addressed by rank regardless of how close they all were. She honestly felt like she had two big brothers and a younger... though if it wasn't for the military...

Sam grasped the arms of her chair firmly and pushed herself upwards and out of the seat with as much force as she could muster, slamming the unruly thoughts into the back of her mind as she did so. They could only cause problems, and she knew it. Though it was fun to tease him sometimes, as she had earlier in the evening. At Janet's suggestion, she'd put the fold-up wheelchair in the trunk of her Volvo before leaving the base to pick up the Colonel (that was better). It was supposed to be 'just in case', but in a fit of giggles she'd decided to bring it up to the porch steps when she rang the doorbell. Of course she'd expected a reaction, but his sheepish acceptance and 'yeh, good idea Carter' had not been what she'd imagined. Maybe he'd accidentally stood on the ankle a couple of times – again – but either way, he'd taken to it gracefully.

Moving to the aisle, with Daniel right behind her, she rolled her eyes as she saw Teal'c and an usher struggling to get a fully laden wheelchair down the stairs.

"Oh Lord," Daniel muttered, pushing his way past her. "Jack! What are you doing?"

"Giving this young man a valuable lesson in customer service, Daniel – what do you think?" the Colonel responded, his tone firm. "I paid good money to see this movie, and yet I couldn't see over the counter when I bought my popcorn, I had to stumble my way up these stairs _very painfully_, and I had to sit in the aisle! If I needed to go to the little boys' room I probably wouldn't be able to get through the door!"

"Jack," Daniel's tone was almost like that of a disapproving parent.

"Don't you _Jack_ me, Danny – I'm in enough trouble with the good Dr Fraiser as it is," the other man asserted, his eyes now turning to the usher. "I don't think that anyone would want me to fall down these stairs and cause an even worse injury now, _would they?_"

"N-n-n-no, sir," the young lad replied falteringly. "And I apologise that our, um, facilities are not adequate for your needs, sir. We do have a service lift, but it's... um..."

"Broken? Figures!" The invalid sounded more like a dictator by the second. "Look kid, give me a few days and I'll be walking again – provided I can get out of here without breaking my neck of course – but what about all the other people in this city who can't handle stairs too well? Like the elderly, or Vietnam vets with missing limbs?"

"S-s-s-sir?"

"Jesus, do I really have to explain this?! Ok kid, do you have a grandmother?"

There was a mumble that could have been a yes.

"Yes? Right, how old is she?"

"78 this year, sir..."

"78? Hey Murray, that's pretty good, huh?"

"Indeed it is, O'Neill," Teal'c intoned, though he was at least a couple of decades older than that himself.

"Hehe," the man in the wheelchair chuckled before returning to the topic of conversation. "Now with all these steps here, do you think that your gran could make it into this movie theatre?"

"But she doesn't –"

"Answer the question!"

"No, sir – but she doesn't come here anyway."

"And why do you think that is kid? I know you have a 'Gone With The Wind' matinee this weekend – posters in the foyer – so chances are it's not because she doesn't like the movies, now is it? No? Ok, so why might it be that your gran doesn't come to this movie theatre?"

"Er... because of the stairs?"

"And does she ever use a wheelchair?"

"No sir..."

"Why not?"

"Because she wouldn't be able to see over the counter?"

"Give the boy a bonus!" The Colonel crowed.

Sam's body shook with barely controlled laughter. The kid looked like he was dealing with a complex mathematical equation and fumbling under the weight of the wheelchair at the same time, even though Teal'c was taking most of the weight without breaking a sweat, and Daniel! Daniel had one hand on his hip and the other was slapped against his forehead in apparent dismay. She could almost hear the muttering from here, but had to concede that the Colonel was right – though she still breathed a sigh of relief when the trio reached the bottom of the stairs safely.

"Ok, so now that we're back on _terra firma_, what are you going to do kid?"

"Erm... get the cleaning crew together to tidy up the movie theatre."

Sam groaned audibly. That was not the answer that Colonel O'Neill would have been waiting for. She started making her way down the stairs... just in case...

"Kid, that badge you're wearing says 'Assistant Manager', and frankly I'd expect you to have more brains than this," the Colonel asserted coldly. "You need to get your act together and sort this place out. People with disabilities can be valuable customers, plus it's illegal to make it difficult to get into a place like this. I know, I know – there is a lift, but it's broken. Fix it!"

The kid just stood there, and as Sam drew closer she decided that enough was enough. She glanced at the Colonel, whose expression was not quite as hostile as his words and voice had suggested. "Sir?"

His head swung round, brown eyes fixing their gaze on her. "Yes, Carter?"

"Shall we head to O'Malleys now?" The promise of steaks should bring him round.

"Good idea Captain," he replied, smiling conspiratorially. Yes, that was Jack all right – _Colonel O'Neill!_ – winding people up to get his point across. Or maybe it had been the other way round this time, with his own indignation leading into the point-making process. Either way, he seemed to be done with his little lecture now – though the poor lad at whom it had been directed was now suffering under the scrutiny of Teal'c.

"Erm, Murray?"

"Yes, CaptainCarter?"

"Shall we?"

The big Jaffa nodded slowly and began to push Colonel O'Neill's wheelchair out of the foyer and onto the street, while Sam turned to Daniel and waved in his face. "Hello, anyone in there?"

The archaeologist blinked, then smirked. "I was just thinking."

"Oh yeh? About what?" She replied as they headed out the main doors together and followed the other pair towards O'Malleys.

"How weird it was that Jack just made me think, I mean really think."

"In what way?" This was an interesting turn. They were good friends – best friends, when it came down to it – but more often than not it would be Daniel making the Colonel re-evaluate his thoughts, not the other way round. Either that or agreeing to disagree.

"Well I guess I never really considered why older people don't like wheelchairs," he explained, his expression quietly guilty. "Most of the time its like they don't want to accept that it might be time to take it easy and let something else take the load, but now I'm wondering whether it's because they know that a wheelchair would make life hard in other ways."

Sam could only nod. "To be honest, it's getting better than it was." At Daniel's questioning glance she shrugged. "I'm an Air Force brat, remember? I used to meet plenty of vets without arms or legs, deaf from ordnance exploding too close, that sort of thing. All good people who were unlucky and paying the price. Some of them were more desperate to stay in the Air Force than take a pension, because that way they still felt useful."

As if to prove her point, she and Daniel finally caught up with the Colonel and Teal'c at the entrance to O'Malleys, where the former was muttering quietly.

"What's the matter, sir?" The door was definitely wide enough for a wheelchair, so what was the problem, she wondered.

"I can get in, but it doesn't look like I'll be able to move around or sit down easily, Carter," the Colonel explained. "Take a look inside."

Looking though the windows, his meaning became clear. There were several tables where he should be able to sit easily, but all were full – even on a weeknight this was a popular joint. The only available seating appeared to be at the booths on the far wall, but getting there would involve manoeuvring through the already crowded table area. That wouldn't be easy, even if he did switch to crutches.

Sam glanced around and saw a waitress taking an order near the main door, all smiles and laughter with her clients. She quickly slipped through the door and plucked the girl's sleeve as soon as she was free.

"Hi – you wouldn't know how long the wait would be for one of these tables would you?" She phrased the question as cheerily and politely as she could, guessing that her entourage of three frustrated males might be shooting evil looks in the poor girl's direction. "It's just my friend there can't get through... and we are regular customers," Sam finished, spotting a bartender who she'd beaten at pool one night and giving him a casual wave.

As she'd hoped, the waitress looked over her shoulder and saw the return grin. Gestures of recognition were far more convincing than name-dropping, but as the girl faced her once again her expression was apologetic.

"I'm really sorry, ma'am, but I don't think any of these tables will become free for at least a half hour. Are you sure your friend couldn't sit in a booth?"

"Oh it's not sitting in a booth that would be a problem – just getting him there," Sam explained, wondering whether the girl realised just how tightly the floor was packed – all in the name of profit, of course. Then again, perhaps this diversion from O'Malleys could improve the night out – at least for her own purposes. "But I don't think we'll be able to wait quite that long. Thanks anyway!"

She walked briskly back to the rest of the team and took hold of the handles of Colonel O'Neill's wheelchair, spinning him round and heading back in the direction of her car.

"Sam?"

"Wha?"

"What is the matter, CaptainCarter?"

It was almost funny that only the alien among them could form a complete sentence.

"Guys, they're packed and will be for a fair while yet. It's gone 2130 and I'm starving, so unless popcorn has gotten more nutritious over the years that should make you three officially dying of hunger," she quipped, a plan forming in her mind. "But who needs O'Malleys anyway? We can have a late summer barbeque back at my place – how's that?"

"There's only one real question to answer that suggestion, Sam," Daniel pointed out, gesturing silently toward the Colonel's oblivious back with a lopsided grin. "How well do you cook steaks and is there any beer in the house?"

Sam returned the grin, knowing full well that Daniel had hit the nail on the head – wheelchair or no, Jack O'Neill would be wanting his favourite food groups. "We would need to pick up food on the way, but as far as beer goes I don't think we'll be needing any. It is a school night after all, plus the Colonel here is on painkillers. Not a good mixture!" she finished, teasingly.

"Good point, Carter," came the Colonel's voice from the chair. "But you never answered the part about actually cooking the steaks."

Shocked, Sam nearly tripped over a pavestone and stopped dead for a moment, fumbling in her pocket for her car keys to cover her reaction. Just when she thought everything was back to normal, out came another uncharacteristic response. She shared a look with Daniel and stammered a response.

"Um, well I thought I could leave that to you guys – you know, fire, raw meat, isn't that supposed to be male territory?"

"I would be happy to oblige, CaptainCarter," Teal'c offered, though she thought she detected a suspicious undercurrent in his deep voice. Maybe she was jumping at nothing though. "Although I would prefer a fruit beverage rather than diet soda."

"Yeh, me too – I can pretend it's got vodka in it."

Sam felt her shoulders relax with relief as Jack – ok, one... two... three... _Colonel O'Neill!_ – made a break for normality. She was jumping at nothing, far too often for her liking. Maybe just didn't like the fact that the team was going to be split up the next day, particularly while their leader was essentially convalescing. The importance of maintaining the chain of command had been ingrained into her psyche from an early age after all.

"Um, any special beverage for you tonight Daniel," she asked the archaeologist, smiling sheepishly as she took in just how badly she'd over-reacted.

The archaeologist winked his sympathy and made to open the passenger side door. "Anything with caffeine Sam, so diet Coke would be fine. Hey, what's wrong with this door?"

"They didn't make cars with central locking in 1961, dummy," Sam laughed, joined by Daniel and the Colonel after a moment's embarrassment. Only Teal'c remained silent, tilting his head as if to say "these Tau'ri are very strange". "Don't worry Teal'c – I think Daniel's gotten so used to seeing ancient relics off-world that he's forgotten that I still drive one."

The big Jaffa nodded his newfound understanding, eyes twinkling. "As you say, CaptainCarter, however I do believe that the phrase 'they no longer make things as they once did' may also be appropriate."

"Damned right, Murray!" Colonel O'Neill chimed in. "Us old windbags have to stick together, right?"

Daniel rolled his eyes, and Sam had to giggle.

"Are we going to get any food before midnight, or are we going to stand here in the car park until the sun comes up?" The archaeologist – and youngest member of the group – grumbled.

"Yes, let's get cracking," Sam nodded, unlocking the passenger door and pulling it open. "Ok – Colonel O'Neill in the front, wheelchair in the trunk and you two in the back. Stat!"

"Yes Ma'am," the Colonel mock saluted, pushing himself up and out of his wheelchair, and making his way into the car with the aid of Teal'c. None of them missed the expression of pain on his face. "Good thing you brought this thing, Carter – I'd be shot away by now if I was on crutches."

"It was Janet's idea, sir," Sam acknowledged softly. "Y'know, maybe we should go to your place instead of mine? It'd save you moving around more than necessary."

She expected the Colonel's eyes to turn hard at that turn of logic, and they did – he hated being the weak one, and all of them knew it – but his recent trip into the car must have made him more open to such suggestions.

"Yeh, all right," he agreed reluctantly, earning a stifled cough from Daniel in the back seat. "But only if you let me have some jello and ice cream, ok Mom?"

"Jello would be... nice," Teal'c commented from the trunk, where he was loading the wheelchair.

It was Sam's turn to roll her eyes. "Ok, so we'll head to the Colonel's house via Wal-Mart and pick up steaks, fruit juice, diet cola and jello – which might actually be ready to eat before midnight if we get a move on." She ignored the yelp of protest from the passenger seat as she climbed in. "Dare I ask if you have anything to go with steaks in your house, sir?"

"Um..."

"I was there the other day Sam, there's only the usual take-out boxes," Daniel called from behind her. She could almost hear his shudder, knowing that despite the chaos of his office he was a tidy freak when it came to food, probably a legacy of his early years on isolated campsites. Exposed perishables wouldn't last long out there.

Sam put the car into gear and set about the business of driving, concentrating on the road as hard as she could while the Colonel and Daniel... bickered. The last thing she needed now was this prime selection of the male species acting as backseat drivers, let alone 'helping' her shop. Her decision was made within moments of pulling into the Wal-Mart car park.

"Daniel," she asked sweetly, trying not to let her frustration shine through. "Would you mind staying here with the Colonel for a short while? There's no point in getting the wheelchair out for such a short trip –"which it would be, if they stayed behind. "– and Teal'c and I can handle it, ok?"

"Ok," the young man mumbled, though the Colonel raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You and Teal'c here only, eh? Anything going on that we should know about? Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more?" he hinted playfully. Could he tell that she was bordering on pissed, she wondered, because if so he was going about this the wrong way.

"No, sir – I just don't like shopping by committee," she replied pointedly, while a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that this man was her superior officer. "Play nicely with the other children!"

And with that she near-slammed the door shut and stalked towards the main entrance, wondering why she was letting them get to her. This was meant to be a relaxing night out, maybe even a team bonding session!

"Are you well, CaptainCarter?" The voice of Teal'c rumbled like thunder in the distance, accompanied by the clatter of a trolley.

She nodded, a wry grin on her face. "Don't worry about me, erm... Murray – I just don't know how to deal with those two when they get like this."

"I believe the phrase is 'sit back and enjoy the show'?" Teal'c smiled philosophically. "We must be thankful for these times of peace, when comrades may spend time together without fear of attack."

"You're right, of course," Sam realised, suddenly thinking that her inner turmoil could be more to do with that damned popcorn machine. She decided that there was no way that she was going to let this get her down and the pair of them made quick work of the food shopping. Steaks were on special too, so they even bought an extra few to put in the Colonel's freezer – though it was doubtful that they'd ever be able to coax him out of his ready-meal ways.

Before long the gang was all back in the car, winding their way towards Jack's house. While Daniel got Jack – _the Colonel_ – up into the house and settled in the living room, Teal'c took charge of the barbeque and Sam put some frozen fries in the oven.

"Frozen?" Daniel asked, a slight whine in his voice.

"It's nearly 10pm – do you want to peel potatoes at this hour?" Sam commented, a tone of warning in her voice.

"Erm, no. Good point," he agreed quickly. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Sure – you can chop these onions and mushrooms for Teal'c," she grinned, glad to have one more task off her plate. Maybe she could shift the rest too, after organising the evening's meal and getting them to the 'venue'. "You can even fry these eggs in a while if you want to make yourself really useful."

"Uh, sure Sam – what will you do?"

"Put my feet up!" She laughed, seeing his expression. "Don't worry I'll do drinks and keep the invalid over there company. Is that ok by you?"

Daniel smiled easily. "Yeh sure, I was getting bored of him already."

After opening a few cupboard doors she located the glasses and took out a selection, plus a handy bowl for making jello. Meanwhile Daniel set about his chopping, and the pair of them could hear Teal'c singing something in tune with the sizzling of the barbeque.

"A traditional cooking song from Chulak?" Sam asked as she handed him a glass of apple juice.

Teal'c coughed with apparent... _embarrassment?_ Why was that, she wondered.

"In a way, CaptainCarter," he answered eventually. "It is a song for children, teaching them that fire is dangerous."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

Laughing softly, Sam finally made her way into the living room and flumped onto a couch.

"Having fun, Carter?" There was a trace of laughter in the Colonel's voice as he turned down the volume of the TV.

"Not as much as Daniel," she replied with a grin. "How's your ankle, sir?"

"Mm... ask me again in the morning, ok? I think it's gone on vacation and left an inflexible lead weight in its place," he quipped. "I was trying to distract myself with the National Geographic channel."

"Oh – what's on?" She glanced at the screen. "Is that the Bell X-2? Broke Mach 3 back in the 50s? It is, isn't it? My dad always said he would have loved to have been one of those pilots, but he was still going through the Academy at the time though. It must have been awesome, being at the front of technology like that."

"It was terrifying," the Colonel mumbled.

No, she must have heard wrong. He would have barely been in kindergarten back then.

"Sir?"

The man on the couch shook himself, as if waking up from a dream. "I, erm, met one of the pilots a few years ago. Tom Stratton. One of the pilots who, um, survived. He... he said it was terrifying."

"A bit like being the first person through the Stargate, huh?"

"Uh... yeh."

Sam was getting uncomfortable vibes from him now, his eyes glued to the image of the test plane being dropped from its carrier, and figured that he wasn't kidding about the pain from his ankle. "Would you like a foot massage, sir?"

"Huh?"

That certainly woke him up. Maybe it was a little over the limits of their normal CO-2IC relationship... but what the hell. "Well I obviously can't touch your ankle, but the foot must be hurting a little too – even if it's just stiff from not being used all day."

The Colonel seemed to ponder this for a moment, and she could see him wiggling his toes experimentally. He grinned, and she realised that he really did have a nice smile when he wasn't in a sarcastic mood – which was almost all the time.

"You're right. Ok – I'd be very grateful, if you don't mind the smell of course. That's pure cheese down there."

"I know – I've slept next to them often enough off-world," Sam laughed, moving over to sit next to him and pulling a sock off. "This is the right one isn't it? Phew! Your name may be Irish, but your feet are French!"

"Hey!"

"I can smell the stink from here!" Daniel's voice drifted in from the kitchen. "Get it over with before you spoil our appetites!"

The pair in the living room laughed. "Ok, ok."

Sam took care to avoid the tender ankle and worked her fingers into the stiff muscles of the foot itself. Her patient groaned with appreciation several times – and winced a few more, if truth be told – but overall it seemed to be a valuable exercise. He certainly wouldn't be able to walk straight away, but Janet had told her often enough that massage was a real tool in holistic medicine, one that far too many doctors overlooked. She'd admitted that she rarely used it herself, but that was more due to the degree of injuries that were presented in the SGC's infirmary.

Eventually the sock went back on and Sam headed into the kitchen to wash her hands, finding Daniel and Teal'c ready to bring the food through.

"Finally!" She exclaimed, eyes smiling and stomach growling to match. "Oops, sorry guys – I didn't mean that you took too long, just that it's been a long time since lunch."

"We understand, CaptainCarter," Teal'c commented as he placed one fried egg on each steak under the direction of self-proclaimed head chef Daniel Jackson.

"I'll get knives and forks, ok?"

"Mmm," the two men responded, engrossed in their culinary masterpiece.

Sam grabbed the required cutlery from the drawer and headed into the dining room, double-taking as she realised that there were steps between the dining and living rooms.

"Sir? Are you going to be ok coming up here?"

"Sure thing Carter, just give me a shoulder to lean on ok? I have to get up there sometime, else I won't make it to bed tonight."

For a strong-willed, independent man he was certainly taking this well, she thought, then realised that this should be taken as a blessing rather than a strange surprise.

"Ok sir," she called as she set the last place. "I'll bring your crutches in as well, ok?"

"Sure thing, Carter."

And so it was that SG1 came to be sitting in Colonel O'Neill's dining room, having late-night steak, egg and fries, sharing stories and reminiscing until midnight – when Sam suddenly heard the clock strike twelve and looked at her watch in shock.

"Is that really the time?!"

She interrupted Teal'c in mid-flow – he, Jack and Daniel had been debating the origins of martial arts on Earth (probably the first time that the Colonel had really joined in the conversation all night) – then clamped her lips shut as she realised how squeaky she'd sounded.

"Why, are you about to turn into a pumpkin, Carter?"

"No, sir," she replied laughing. "Look, it's been a really great evening, but I have to be up early – General Hammond will give me what for if I sleep through our meeting."

By the look on the three men's faces – or on Daniel's and Colonel O'Neill's anyway, since Teal'c remained as stoic as ever – her reminder of work had brought them all back to reality. In only a few hours, two of them would be on another planet... and back at the base there were at least two major mysteries that needed solving: the popcorn machine, and who broke into Daniel's office.

"That was a fantastic meal though, guys, thank you to the chefs!" the Colonel announced, slapping his belly appreciatively.

"And thank you for the jello, Sam," Daniel replied cheekily. "Never let it be said that you can't cook."

"Ha ha," she stuck her tongue out playfully. "Well I don't think I'll be able to eat another thing before tomorrow night after all that..."

"Who're you trying to kid, Sam? You hardly ever make it into the commissary as it is!"

"Hey! Do you want a lift home or not, Mr Coffee And Power Bars Will Get Me Through Anything?"

"Shall we do the washing up?" Teal'c enquired politely, his eyes quietly laughing.

The Colonel grimaced. "No need, but it would be great if you could load the dishwasher. I don't think I could handle standing by the sink for too long."

"Yeh we know, Jack – that's why you live out of pizza boxes!" Daniel crowed, standing up and gathering plates. "You just stay right there, o high and mighty leader – we'll leave the house just as we found it... only a little tidier. Ok?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Uh-huh."

Sam sat back in her chair trying not to giggle too much – her stomach was full and starting to hurt as it was. They would only be gone for a couple of days, but she was going to miss Teal'c and... _Jack_.

"Are you going to be alright to drive in tomorrow morning, sir?" she decided to ask.

He nodded. "I managed on the way home – it's an automatic, so wasn't too hard." His hand came up like a Boy Scout salute. "I solemnly swear that I will either call you or Daniel, or a taxi, if my ankle hurts too much though, how's that?"

"Don't leave it too late if that's the case, I think we're all heading in early tomorrow," Daniel commented, coming back into the dining room with Teal'c.

"Ok," the Colonel acknowledged. "Teal'c, are you heading all the way back to the base tonight?"

"No, O'Neill, I am not – DanielJackson has kindly offered me the use of his spare room," the Jaffa replied in that calm way of his. "However we would be grateful for a lift to his apartment, CaptainCarter."

"Fine thing – are you ready?"

"Yes."

"We are."

"Ok then, let's ride." Sam turned to the Colonel. "Don't to see Janet before you head off in the morning sir," she reminded him.

"And the wheelchair is in the back of your truck, Jack," Daniel pointed out.

The Colonel held up his hands in surrender. "With well-meaning friends like you, who needs doctors, really? Now get out of here!"

A chorus of laughter followed the trio out of the door, while their CO limped slowly behind on crutches. Sam hated to see him this way, but she knew that it was temporary and he had the next few days to recover. It had been a very good night though, she thought contentedly as she put the car in gear, reminded the 'kids' to buckle up and waved goodbye.

* * *

NB. I have never been to a cinema in the US, but I saw the opportunity to launch into a disability rights tirade, hehe. Somehow it seemed like something that both Jack and Sam Beckett might do in this situation...

Also, no offence meant to any French readers – this was an oblique reference to wondrous cheeses like Pont L'Eveque yum yum which most people think smells like boots that haven't been washed for 10 years.


	21. Eavesdropping

Disclaimer: not mine.

Reviewers, and all other readers: You know what it's like when you have a favourite book and want skip straight on to the good bits? That's me right now, only for writing, because things will be hotting up really soon! Anyway, today's treat is a home-made home-grilled bbq burger with all the trimmings (apart from beetroot – _shudder_). It is may be bordering on winter over here, but I'm still on Aussie seasonal time – roll out the barbie!

P.S. To all those in the UK, happy bonfire night!! May your sparklers twinkle brightly and your fireworks bang loudly!! Shall we all dress up as Spiderman and try to blow up Parliament again? :)

P.P.S. Did anyone else see Jonathon Ross interviewing Sarah Michelle Gellar the other night?? Hilarious!

SMG: I don't think we're speaking the same language.

JR: Mine's called English.

SMG: Something like that.

* * *

**September 26th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap  
  
Gooshie's POV**  
  
Dr Fisichella squinted at the lines of code before him, entered another command and looked toward a second screen to view the outcome. Still unsatisfactory. He went back a few lines and erased some of the code, then waited. No change. 

Sighing, he massaged his temples and looked around the Control Room. Aside from Ziggy, he was the only one here – and while Ziggy herself wasn't an actual human being he had held far more intelligent conversations with the hybrid computer than he had with Admiral Calavicci. In the programmer's mind, that made her the equal of most humans despite her circuitry – if not their superior. Colonel Jack O'Neill most definitely included. But even Ziggy was silent right now, analysing scenarios and subroutines far quicker than any member of the team ever could.

All of a sudden the main door slid open and the two aforementioned military officers entered the room. One was bad enough, but Al's 'new best friend' – as Tina put it – was almost insufferable at times. Gooshie couldn't understand how she managed to put up with Al, let alone Jack.

"So you've already tried looking in on him?" The Colonel was asking.

"Yeh," Al replied. "But he seemed to be in the middle of something. There was a group of them sat round a dinner table having steak – it looked great, but I can't smell anything in there which almost killed me as much as not being able to taste anything!"

Gooshie turned back to his computer, uninterested in such gossip unless it was operationally useful. At least Tina didn't have to listen to this irrelevant babbling, having gone home a couple of hours earlier. He – on the other hand – had to stay to manage the Imaging Chamber when Al visited Sam, which had already been attempted once and failed due to bad timing. More like Al's inability to see food without trying to eat it, he joked to himself.

"Were they in O'Malleys?" Jack sounded confused.

Al shook his head. "Nah, it was your place. Something must have changed their plans – but I recognised Dr Jackson and Captain Carter there. Wow, she really is a hot one isn't she? If I –"

The Admiral's voice cut out suddenly, and out of the corner of his eye Gooshie glimpsed the Colonel's glare of the century boring down on the other man. He swallowed a smug chuckle, certain that Al had crossed a certain line with this Leapee – the fact that it had come while he was engaging in some imaginary infidelity only added to Gooshie's enjoyment of Al's discomfort. He only wished he had the strength to do so himself.

"Erm... and there was this huge African-American guy with the weirdest tattoo on his head," Al prattled on, evidently recovering fairly quickly. "And his biceps must be the size of my head!"

"That'll be Teal'c," Jack commented, and Gooshie could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"The alien?!"

"None other."

"Jeez, now I really hope Sam doesn't get caught."

"So they still don't realise he's not me?" The Colonel was evidently disturbed by this lack of recognition on the part of his team. "I don't believe it!"

There came the sound of Al slapping Jack on the back. "That's our boy, a chameleon all the way – but then it has been his way of life for the last few years."

"Yeh... some life..."

There was silence for a few moments from all three men, the two military and the eavesdropper. Gooshie knew that everyone at Project Quantum Leap had envied Dr Beckett at one point or another, but most of them got over it quickly enough when they realised the cost. He 'got out' a lot more than the rest of them put together, but he never came home at the end of the night and was permanently working overtime. Ziggy's records showed that until he'd Leaped, he and Donna had never actually been married... it showed that there had been some personal rewards to the 'job' but it wasn't like he'd been able to enjoy the fruits of that relationship in several years. Now it sounded like Jack O'Neill had come to the same conclusion as others before him.

"So, whatcha up to Gooshie?" Al broke the silence, his cheery tone covering the sadness that his co-worker knew lurked beneath.

"Just trying to boost the signal some more, Al – I know he's on the surface now, but he won't be tomorrow morning. It just seemed sensible to try and work on our broadcasting before it became a vital necessity again." Gooshie paused, praying that Al wouldn't ask the impossible. "I will _not_ be able to boost the signal far enough to reach this Alpha site however, even if we could locate it."

"Understood, Goosh," Al nodded. He clapped his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road again then, shall we Ziggy?"

"I certainly hope so," the computer's voice said sarcastically. "It is past midnight, so the meal would surely be over by now."

"With all due respect Z, you don't know my team. Any chance to eat something other than MREs and commissary food, and they're off," Jack wisecracked. "Plague of locusts. Big plague that, uh, deserves good food. Mm..."

Al grinned, presumably seeing that there was someone else in the world who could trip over his tongue just as well as himself. "Message received loud and clear, Colonel. They all know that it's a school night though, right?"

"Oh yeh, there are no slackers on my team apart from me."

"Riiiiiight. Well on that note, let's go –"

"Hey Al," Jack interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Could I come into this Imaging Holodeck thing with you?"

An awkward silence fell over the room, punctuated only by the sound of Jack spinning on his feet and looking at the two men in confusion.

"What are you looking at? Did I grow another head or something?"

Gooshie felt compelled to speak up, just in case the Admiral was actually entertaining this frankly ridiculous notion.

"This would not be wise, Al, and you know it."

Colonel O'Neill fixed his gaze on the programmer and narrowed his eyes. "Don't you like me, Dr? Is that it? Or is this 'not wise' because I wouldn't tell you anything more about the SGC?"

"No, I –"

"It's because it's a bad idea, Jack," Al picked up the conversation. "Gooshie's right."

"Ok... why? Is it one of those entropical whajimmies that kills you when you're there twice in the same time?"

Al looked blank, and it took Gooshie a moment to realise what he meant. Why couldn't the man speak English?

"Entropic cascade failure?"

The Colonel nodded. "That's the one! See, I told you I need Carter for this scientific stuff. Is that it?"

"No," Gooshie stated bluntly, not sure whether to take the other man's dumb act at face value. "You wouldn't actually be there you see, and Sam wouldn't see you unless you touched Al – all to do with how the signal is broadcast directly between their brains." Seeing Jack blink, he realised that here was an opportunity to further confuse the military interloper. "It's a subatomic agitation of quarks tuned to the mesons of Sam's optic and otic neurons via Al's own neurons and mesons –"

"Yup, need Carter..." Jack muttered, rolling his eyes. "Ok then, what's real reason?"

"Well for starters you currently look a lot like Sam, and he hasn't seen his own reflection for nearly 5 years," Al explained sadly. "Plus he looks like you, which could have a strange effect on both of you. I know you listened in last time, but seeing would be something else entirely."

"Yeh, I can see how that could be weird..."

"And then there's the fact that even if you were there you'd just be annoying and not say anything that helps – while getting an even better view of our own secrets," Al finished, playing the security card that Jack himself had laid down as law earlier.

"Yeh, but you said I probably wouldn't remember this after I Leap back into myself. Haaaaah!" The Colonel pointed out smugly.

"There's always a risk that you might remember, with time and possibly hypnosis," Gooshie declared, really hoping that Al wouldn't give in.

"Ok, ok, I give up. I'll listen in like last time," Jack held up his hands in surrender, then made a shooshing motion. "Now git! Your boy has a job to do tomorrow, remember? He needs a good night's sleep."

Gooshie turned back to his controls and shook his head in frustration. Letting that man out of the Waiting Room had been a bad idea, but then it wasn't his call. The man was potentially violent and maybe even a moron, refusing to give even Al – who was technically his superior – the slightest modicum of respect! He prayed that Sam would Leap out of this annoying person sooner rather than later...

After programming in the transmission coordinates, and checking with Ziggy that all systems were powered up and ready, Gooshie pulled the handset from its slot in her CPU and handed it to Al.

"Tell Sam hi from me would you? And that I'm jealous of his trip tomorrow?"

"Yeh, sure bud," Al grinned and winked. "Maybe one day we'll tweak this old girl enough that you'll be able to say hi to him yourself, without the seasickness."

"May I remind you that I am younger than yourself, Admiral Calavicci? Date of birth –"

"Ok, ok! Just a figure of speech, Ziggy, just a figure of speech. Never pry into a woman's age, I should have remembered that..." Al apologised light-heartedly, still laughing at his own joke.

Gooshie narrowed his eyes. Ziggy did not deserve ridicule from anyone, let alone Al – who knew what she was capable of. He blamed Colonel O'Neill's bad influence for this lapse, and glared at him – then blinked back as the man glared man. Did he know what he'd been thinking?

Shaken without really knowing why, Gooshie scuttled back to his controls and double-checked everything. He cast a few dark looks in Jack's direction and generally worried about the fact that apart from two men in the lobby, all the guards had gone home for the night. In a short while he would be alone in the most sensitive area of Project Quantum Leap with this unknown. Procedures ensured that he couldn't escape (or at least shouldn't be able to... this man was ex-black ops after all...), but he could do something wild and dangerous like smash Ziggy's CPU with a fire extinguisher. This was not good!

One more press of a button and the door to the Imaging Chamber slid open. Al walked through the entrance with a brief wave, the door slid shut, and Gooshie absently gobbled a row of dark chocolate to calm his nerves before flicking a switch.

"Erm, you should be able to hear the conversation from here, Colonel O'Neill," he stammered as calmly as he could. "Or we could set you up to listen in the Waiting Room if you prefer."

"Here's fine."

Gooshie dared a quick glance at the stranger, unsure what to do now that he was alone with him for the first time. Sure he'd been wandering around for most of the day now, but somehow he seemed... safer... when Al was around.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know," Jack commented blandly, as if were the more casual phrase one could ever utter. "I could if I wanted to, but I have bigger fish to fry."

"B-bigger fish?"

"Yeh!" A small shrug. "Snakehead aliens, remember? I want to get home, not spend the next few days in the brig, or whatever the Navy calls its holding cells on research bases."

"Ah, um –"

"Quiet, I can hear them talking now."

The programmer recoiled as if he'd been verbally slapped. The next time – _next time?!_ – Al suggested that a Leapee be allowed out of the waiting Room without a guard, he was going to scream blue murder and freeze all the locks! Even Ziggy didn't seem to realise the threat... or maybe she was already protecting herself by some means...

He turned the volume up to drown up the increasingly panicky voices in his head, knowing that the usual comfortable banter between Al and Sam would help calm him down.

"_Good meal?"_

"_Great meal! And the movie was good too, and thankfully Carter asked me what it was like to finally see Star Wars before I started raving about how the digital enhancements had improved the overall movie!"_

"_Ha! That would have been funny – plus I don't think you'd catch Jack using the phrase 'digital enhancements' in a hurry..."_

Jack snorted. "The man's right..."

_"Ok, so how're you feeling about the trip tomorrow now?"  
  
"Fine, fine – still excited, but a little nervous too. Not as nervous as when I had to fly that X2 though. Hey! That was on National Geographic earlier too –"_  
  
"This guy flew the X2?" 

Gooshie looked up from his screen, where he'd been monitoring input and output levels of energy required to broadcast to and receive audiovisual signals from the past. This Leap to a time so close to the present was proving valuable for that aspect of one of the researchers' field of study. Another good way of forgetting about Jack... until he spoke, of course.

"Huh? Erm, yes – that was his first Leap. Tom Stratton. First to break Mach 3 and survive... or at least that's what happened _now_. Sam really needed Al that time though, he'd never flown before."

"Really?" Jack sounded impressed as he tuned back into the conversation.  
  
_"– don't suspect you yet?"  
  
"Really! I'm really on thin ice though – they're a close-knit bunch. I found a good trick though."  
  
"Oh yeh?"  
  
"I don't know this Jack guy from a bar of soap, but I have an idea of what he's like and I get the feeling that he's a lot like you!"  
_  
_"So what's the trick?"  
  
"Acting like you, of course! I had this whole bickering thing going on with Daniel earlier and it worked perfectly."_  
  
Gooshie chanced a look at Colonel O'Neill and caught a sad look on his face. Maybe he missed his friends too, especially if they were as close as Sam said. The other man twitched, then realised he was being watched. 

"What're you looking at?"

"Nothing, nothing," the programmer assured him hurriedly. "You remember you can speak to Al via that button next to you, don't you?"

"'Course."

"Ok..."

Gooshie turned back to his work and prayed that Sam and Al would hurry up so he could get out of here and go home. Not something that he, as a workaholic, would normally wish for, but these were special circumstances.  
  
_"– can't give you any real information though, because Jack's unwilling to compromise security –"  
  
"That's fine, I can deal with that – besides his team already did some compromising themselves."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well we've all been reminiscing tonight – at least they were, I just kept pretty quiet and listened in. Lots of wondrous detail that never made it onto paper."  
  
"So you've been out and watched a movie, been wheeled around all night like some aristocrat with two left feet, been waited on all night, and managed to brief yourself without even trying?"_  
  
_"Yup."  
  
"Sorry Jack."  
_  
The man in question shook his had and pressed the comms button. "I don't suppose I can blame them, but jeez..."  
  
_"Heh. He doesn't sound too happy. So, do you have a plan for your two-day trip into the wilderness?"  
  
"Yes, I do. Or rather Teal'c and the invalid Colonel O'Neill do. We're going to head out there and dive straight into some practical exercises, which Teal'c is going to lead and I will supervise from some operations room. A bit like paintball – is that still around?"  
  
"Yep."  
_  
_"Ok, so it's a bit like paintball, but since they've already been through the Academy and are in the second week of SGC training, they'll be using rubber bullets and Teal'c – who will be one single opponent by the way – will be using his staff weapon."_  
  
"_Staff weapon? Never heard of –"_

"_It's like a tazer, only a lot worse. Imagine most science fiction movies with laser-type guns. A Jaffa weapon."_

"_Holy cr-"_

"Yeh, that'll show 'em who's boss," Jack cheered, causing Gooshie to concentrate even harder on the graph before him. Firing dangerous weapons on recruits? How could Sam agree to that?

"_Yup. But once per person only – we have to make sure they all know to get off the field if they've been shot, because apparent two shots is a nightmare to recover from, and three disintegrates."_

"_Ah. So this is the big plan to get them out of the computer game mindset. Intense physical pain? I can't see you enjoying that, Sam..."_

"_True, and I don't like it – but after seeing and hearing some of the things... let's just say a dose of reality will probably do these kids wonders."_

"_Ok, so you'll be playing it safe and keeping off the leg?"_

"_Yessir – I realised that if the Leap does end before my ankle's healed I'll still be Leaping during the next one. That could get awkward."_

"_You're right – ouch. Enjoy being looked after while you still can then."_

"_I will – though I'll also be poked and prodded by that Dr Fraiser again tomorrow morning."_

"_Hah! Yeh, I've heard Jack mention her. I think he called her a 'Napoleonic powermonger'."_

Jack chuckled. "Damn straight..."

"_That's funny, and accurate. She's a nice lady though, and a good doctor too. Say – is there anything going on between Colonel O'Neill and Captain Carter?"_

"_Um – I don't know. Er... Jack?"_

"Oh, for crying out loud – why does everyone always think – ah, the button," Jack stopped his rant almost as soon as it had started, evidently remembering that without an open channel he would have an audience of precisely one. "No, there is nothing going on between me and Carter. Ok?"

_"Uh-huh, ok – no, nothing going on. Why?"_

_"Oh, nothing really. She just gave me a foot massage earlier and –"_  
  
"Carter gave him a foot massage?" Jack exploded, frantically looking round at Gooshie. "She never gives me one, never!" 

Gooshie, startled, couldn't think of a thing to say – was he expecting some kind of equally indignant support? Though he did notice that the Colonel's voice was a little strained, and maybe even... jealous?

"Um... er..."

"Never mind, I've never sprained my ankle before either – yeh, that must be it."

Apparently satisfied with his own explanation, Colonel O'Neill settled back into his usual position and carried on listening. Gooshie resolved to do the same, but was distracted by a new sound. Fingers? Tapping on the tabletop? Should he mention it?

"Erm..."

"Yes?" Jack snapped. Ok, so he wasn't in a good mood anymore.

"Nothing."

"Hmph."

"_Ok, so you're sure you're all right?"_

"_Yeh, go on – let me get some sleep."_

"_You don't want any tips from an old-timer about shooting enemy targets, strategy, that sort of thing? Going into space?"_

"_I'm not going into space, Al – I'll be molecularised _through_ it."_

"Heh," Jack commented to the air, miraculously stopping his irritating finger tapping. "Carter obviously hasn't given him the full explanation yet then. Or maybe she has and he actually understands it. Hmm."

"_Mm... yeh, and Gooshie's jealous – Lord only knows why."_

"_Hehe, well say hi to him for me and I'll tell you all about it when I get back ok?"_

"_If you say so. Would you like me to drop by in the morning?"_

"_No, I should be fine. Thanks for the offer though."_

"_Uh-huh. Not even for directions back to the base."_

"_Low blow, Al, low blow. I'll be fine."_

"_Hmph. Well it sounds like you're all set without me then doesn't it – are you sure you need me at all?"_

"_Hey, don't get like that! I didn't mean it that way – it's just that it's late, and I'm tired, and I have to be up early in the morning because I have an appointment with a doctor who likes big needles, plus a huge and wondrous thing called a Stargate."_

"_Yeh, well it's clear that you don't care much other than that Stargate right now, not even details. I know, I know, you're doing fine. Just don't forget what you're here to do. Keep Jack alive at all costs."_

"_All costs?"_

"_You know what I mean."_

"_Yeh, I do."_

"_Ok, we'll have a scanner running 24-7 for your neurons – waiting for when you reappear in that weird underground transmission inhibitor. I'll come see you as soon as I can."_

"_Sounds great – and don't worry too much, Mom."_

"_Very funny."_

The door to the Imaging Chamber slid open, and suddenly Gooshie could hear Al's voice without the tinniness of the comms channel.

"See ya."

_"Sweet dreams."_

Al punched a button on the handset and the door closed, leaving behind it an empty, disengaged Imaging Chamber. He sat down heavily and held his head in his hands.

"Jeez, I hope that kid's not going to do something stupid out there."

Gooshie sighed and glanced at Colonel O'Neill. Their eyes met, and he suddenly realised that for once all three of them were actually in agreement.


	22. Preflight checks

Disclaimer: I own a toaster.

Reviewers: thank you all, once again, especially **firehound** who pointed out my monumental mistake in saying that Teal'c would be using his staff weapon to help train the recruits. Probably a bad idea since this would make the recruits' odds of making it into an SG team slightly worse than their odds of winning the Lottery (though I did win £10 the other day...), so instead he'll be a painful yet less deadly zat :)

Treat of the day: a nice warm butter croissant with jam... mmmmm...

And now ...... (drumroll) ...... on with the show!

* * *

**September 21st 1998 – Stargate Command****Sam Beckett's POV**

An alarm bleeped loudly, then louder, then louder again.

A head appeared from beneath a duvet, grinning from ear to ear, and an arm shot out to slap the alarm off before it destroyed the waker's blindingly good mood. This _was_ the day that Samuel Beckett, holder of 6 doctorates and one Nobel Prize, would walk (or limp) on a different planet after all.

He stretched, grimacing a little as his muscles realised that it was time for another day's work, then swung his legs off the bed and tentatively pulled at the curtain. It was raining outside, but then that didn't bother him – he'd be under a mountain in less than an hour, and then... then he'd be...

_DEAF?!_

A radio suddenly blared out what sounded like the most god-awful racket he'd ever heard – and since he was a Doctor of Musical Arts and had played in Carnegie Hall at age 19, he felt perfectly qualified to make that judgement. _What the hell was that noise and where was it coming from?_

Finally his ears beat through the white noise to locate a radio on the far side of the room. Of course, he decided in his helpless frustration, this would be the day when he not only awoke as fresh and happy as a daisy, but also the day when he had to suffer Jack O'Neill's incontrovertible cure for the sleeping dead: heavy metal at 6am. It wasn't even _good_ heavy metal.

Swinging himself back on to the bed he saved time that would otherwise be used limping and found the off-switch in record time, then flopped back onto the duvet in relief.

"Thank God for that," he whispered to himself, then felt a small yet persistent grin edging its way into his lips until – for the second time in less than 5 minutes – he was grinning like an idiot. Nothing could spoil today, not even a badly played bass guitar with an oversized amp. Had that thing gone off the previous morning as well, while he was in the SGC infirmary?? He hoped not... and if it had, it must have cancelled itself before some irate neighbour took a sledgehammer to the front door.

Reaching for his crutches, Sam gingerly manoeuvred himself into an upright position and headed for the kitchen. With any luck there would be some food in the refrigerator, even if it was leftover fried from the night before – but no, there was further proof that SG1 was close enough to be family. Carter had left a paper bag with what looked like some sort of pastry in it – yes, a couple of croissants – and a carton of fresh 'tropical' juice. What a woman! Maybe there was something going on after all, or maybe there would be if it wasn't for the fact that they were military. Something in his swiss-cheesed mind was insisting that there was some regulation against relationships between soldiers, or something like that. Either way, Sam was intensely grateful for the croissants because despite the previous night's huge meal he was hungry and who knew what would pass for food at the Alpha site. Looking at the remainder of the fridge they also looked like the only edible items... there was even primitive biological experiment growing in an old milk bottle.

Desperately trying not to retch, Sam plucked out the bag and carton before closing the fridge door. He did not want to go in there again... but somehow he suspected that his tidy streak would win over in the end. Best to fortify himself with food first then, and get ready for the drive to Cheyenne Mountain.

Turning on the TV, Sam placed the croissants in the microwave and flicked through to find a news slot so that he could munch on his breakfast and catch up on current affairs. Catch up? Hah! More like start at the present and work backwards... There wasn't anything exciting happening by any means, but the fact that he knew that he was within days of the 'present' made this programme somehow different. Most of his Leaps were to years well before he built the Quantum Leap Accelerator, so he often found that he saw the news with the benefit of 20-20 hindsight – not just the network's take on it at the time – but this was _real_ news, news that was almost current! He wasn't too keen on all the flashy graphics and melodramatic pauses though; he wanted facts, not 'Days Of Our Lives'.

As the weather came on, Sam glanced at the clock. 6.20 already! He was going to have to leave any minute if he was to have any chance of making it to the base by 7am for Dr Fraiser's last minute medical... Having not inspected the shower last night, Sam prayed silently that it would be easily accessible in his current state – thankfully, it was. His ankle certainly didn't ache as badly as it had the day before, but he didn't exactly want to balance on one leg or fall flat on his behind. Now was not the time to be taking chances. Al had been right about that, if nothing else.

Soaping down and drying off, Sam pondered Al's points regarding his determination to travel through the Stargate. He could understand where he was coming from, but they were totally outweighed by his own desire for adventure – the SGC held the biggest secrets of both physics and archaeology, Sam's two greatest academic loves, and though he would never admit it to his friend... well... if he'd heard about the Stargate before Al had helped him get funding for Project Quantum Leap he'd have been sorely tempted to defect from Navy to Air Force. No regrets, Sam told himself as he shaved carefully, trying to balance the physical contours of his face with Jack O'Neill's reflection in the mirror. No regrets.

Finally he was ready to set off, so with his bag over his shoulders and teetering delicately on his crutches, Sam headed out the front door. Almost. Surely he had a few moments to clear out that fridge? If he didn't, and if he came back from the Alpha site before Leaping, the biology experiment might have taken over the house – either that or it would smell worse than it already did. The decision made, Sam grabbed a plastic bag left over from the previous night's shopping spree and emptied all items in the refrigerator bar beer into his makeshift trashcan. Done. He tied the top off and finally made it through the front door, tossing the smelly bag into a waiting wheelie bin by the porch.

After negotiating the steps and carefully pushing himself up into the cab of Jack's truck, Sam was ready to set off at last. Confident that he had now properly memorised the route to Cheyenne Mountain, he put the truck into drive and reversed onto the road, whistling cheerfully. The radio was playing a song that appeared to be called 'Space Cowboy' which he didn't recognise but it seemed particularly apt for the day, so Sam nominated it as his unofficial theme tune. At least it wasn't heavy metal anyway.

In no time at all he arrived at the Cheyenne Mountain complex, congratulating himself on not making a single wrong turn. He passed through security without a hitch and waved to Daniel and Teal'c – the latter wearing his 'Murray' hat – who were just getting out of Daniel's VW Beetle. Sam laughed, thinking that he should have guessed that Daniel's taste in cars would either be quirky or ambivalent.

"Morning guys!" He cheered, opening the truck door and accepting their aid to get out. "Nice day isn't it?"

"It is raining, O'Neill," Teal'c observed, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeh, and you're babysitting, remember?" Daniel nudged, a mocking grin on his face. "Would you like us to pull out the wheelchair?"

Oh yeh, Sam remembered belatedly – Jack hates this detail.

"Babysitting is better than deskwork," he commented with a fake grimace. "And maybe the wheelchair would be good. I'm due to see Dr Fraiser as soon as I get in."

"As am I," Teal'c asserted as he lifted the wheelchair from the back of the truck.

"I thought you liked hanging out in my lab, Jack, playing with my 'rocks' and damn near breaking half of them," Daniel teased. "Are you finally getting older and wiser?"

"Me? Never."

"Thought not."

The three of them trundled towards the main gatepost, crutches taped securely to the back of the wheelchair, and Sam suddenly realised that he would be the last to know if they had identified his prints and matched them to 'Jack' overnight. Perhaps they would have sent a team to take him at home, but soon he'd be in one of the most secure installations on Earth – literally. Mohammed was coming to the Mountain after all... but did they know who Mohammed was yet? He was about to go for a check-up for goodness sake – would they take blood for analysis? An MRI?

"Have you, erm, heard anything more about whoever it was who was in your lab yet Daniel?" Sam asked, hoping that he didn't sound too nervous.

If they hadn't identified him, it still wasn't worth running – or rolling – because he'd look too suspicious... plus the Stargate was in there, and he could go through it today. Maybe Al had been right, but no, he couldn't have gotten away with not turning up for work today... oh boy... The realisation of what might await him on Level –28 had finally hit him, but he couldn't see any way of pulling out. Either they knew who he was or they didn't, and Jack O'Neill was due for a medical check up at 0700 regardless.

"Nada," Daniel replied, after what seemed like an age – though the logical part of Sam's mind told him that the archaeologist had probably been thinking back through the problem, just as he had. The other man's shoulders had slumped in apparent depression, and unless Daniel was a very good actor that could not be a sign that he knew they were about to trap his mysterious intruder.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sam calmed down and allowed the Marine guards to check over his wheelchair for unauthorised attachments, then the trio entered the base proper.

"What's the chance that Carter's here already?" Sam asked light-heartedly, trying to keep his mind off things while remembering that a very large alien with superhuman strength was pushing his wheelchair.

"100," the aforementioned Jaffa replied. "Her motorcycle was in the parking bay."

_Motorcycle?_ Sam mouthed silently. He couldn't think why it surprised him so much, then realised that he'd spent far too much time in the past. He'd met plenty of strong women during his years of Leaping, but most of them had still be constrained by social niceties – 'now', at least, it was obviously ok for a woman to be both respected and ride a motorcycle. In some of the times and places he'd been to, it wasn't even respectable for a man to ride, let alone a woman...

"Mm... ok then," he mumbled as they entered the lift, mentally preparing himself for the incredibly long downward journey they were about to make. No matter how hard he tried, his imagination always made the sensation of falling worse than it actually was – even in a lift. That was one lasting effect of his Leap into a stuntman: fear of heights combined with actual experience of dangling into the abyss.

On arrival at Level –28, the three men parted. Daniel headed to his lab to officially start work – and to unofficially check that the Marine investigation squad hadn't moved, damaged or taken any of his things – while Teal'c wheeled Sam towards the infirmary for what someone had dubbed their 'pre-flight checks'. Maybe it was Jack, Sam wondered. His idea of what the Colonel was like was becoming clearer and clearer, and it sounded like something he'd come up with.

"My favourite patients!"

Sam looked up from his musing to see Dr Fraiser standing over him, the twinkle in her eye suggesting that she was enjoying the opportunity to be taller than someone on the base – or maybe it was just Jack O'Neill. What was it that Al had called her... Napoleonic power-monger?

"I've been a good boy, ma'am," he said eventually. "Haven't I, Teal'c?"

"Indeed, DrFraiser," the deep voice boomed overhead. "ColonelO'Neill has been most... cooperative."

The doctor looked amused as she took control of the wheelchair and pushed it towards the examination area. "Oh really? Sam was just telling me about your incident with a certain pimple-faced assistant manager last night. I'd say that goes above and beyond the call of medical obligation, don't you?"

"Ah, well I did that for the good of all wheelchair-kind, y'know?"

"Did you now? What did I tell you about not taking your frustrations out on innocent bystanders, Colonel?" She had her hands on her hips now. "I know you hate that wheelchair, but it's for your own good. I'm glad to see that you've been sticking with it though, rather than trying your luck with the crutches too early."

"But –"

"No buts, Colonel. Now let me take a look at this ankle. Hold still!"

"Teal'c, you tell her!" Sam implored as a nurse walked by, also shaking her head in disapproval. He didn't want to be tarred with Jack's apparent bad reputation in the infirmary, even if he was Jack to all intents and purposes.

"I do not believe that this is a battle that you can win, O'Neill," the big Jaffa stated with a hint of a smile, seemingly restful as the nurse gave him a basic check-up. It didn't seem to involve bloodwork, for which Sam was highly grateful.

"Hmph. Hey, any news yet on Danny's break-in? Have you heard back from the – _OW!_"

"Patience is a virtue, dear Colonel," Dr Fraiser scolded him as she finished inspecting the sprain. "And so is a decent pain threshold. You should be fine to get rid of the wheelchair entirely by tonight, if you prefer crutches, but I'm going to recommend that you stay seated for as much of today as possible. I don't want to see your grumpy face in here any more than I have to, understood?"

"Yes'm, loud and clear," Sam half-saluted. "And have you heard anything more about the break-in?"

"No..." she replied, her face relaxing into a sad smile. Had she been teasing him? "But the Marines swept through here during the nightshift, which made things rather awkward for the personnel on duty. They found some more prints here and in Sam's lab – even in the briefing room would you believe! – but as far as I know they haven't been identified as yet. I hate to think of what they might have been doing in here though – none of us can remember any strangers coming in, not even new personnel. The sooner this is cleared up the better!"

"I have every confidence that MajorCastleman's staff will solve this mystery, DoctorFraiser," Teal'c commented, though his expression was somewhat blank. Did he really believe his own words, Sam wondered.

"You and me both," the small doctor agreed, clasping her hands. "But will it be in time to stop a leak? Every second counts – they probably aren't even here any more. What do you think, Colonel? ... Colonel?"

"Huh?" Sam snapped awake. He really needed to get used to being called 'Colonel'. "Oh, uh, I just want to see whoever it is that they latch onto and, erm, what the motive was."

"Motive?" Dr Fraiser was incredulous. "Look around you, or take a little visit to the Gateroom. There's plenty of motive here."

"Hmm... you're right." Now that was a slip and a half. He usually thought on his feet a little better than that. "Anyway, we'd better get going. Pack our bags, that kinda thing."

"You have already packed your bag, O'Neill," Teal'c pointed out, indicating the backpack hanging off the rear of the wheelchair.

Dr Fraiser laughed. "Don't worry – I know you just want to get out of this infirmary. Get going, and next time I see you I want that swelling to be minimal!"

"Glad to see the back of me, eh? Will do. Ok, Teal'c – do we have time to pop in on Daniel before we go?" He was going to miss that friendly face over the next couple of days.

"If you wish, O'Neill, however I would prefer to make use of the facilities prior to our departure," the Jaffa suggested, much to Dr Fraiser's apparent amusement.

"Hey," she laughed out loud. "Those privies at the Alpha site are very hygienic I'll have you know – at least as hygienic as you're likely to find on a world with no piped water supply or sewerage."

Suddenly a trip to the little boys' room sounded like a fantastic idea to Sam. He loved camping... but how wheelchair-friendly would this long-drop be? And how was he trying to kid anyway – he just liked the tent aspect of camping, not all the basics (and mosquitoes) that usually came with it.

"The john it is then, my friend – let's go!"

"And good riddance!" The doctor called after them, sounding both sad and happy to see the pair leave.

As it turned out, a trip to the lavatory block was the best idea that Teal'c could have had, as the 'disabled access' cubicle had an entrance all of its own. Having taken advantage of the last flush he was likely to see for two days, Sam dawdled in the hope that Al might decide to see him on his way after all. He knew that Teal'c was probably waiting patiently outside, but it had finally hit him that even if the Marines hadn't identified him... well... he was going off-world, and he _was_ pretty clueless. But the opportunity was too good to miss...

Finally a flickering in the corner of his eye coalesced into Al stepping through the Imaging Chamber door. The hologram clapped his ears to signal that there was no audio, but the visual was crystal clear. Sam was just glad for the chance to 'hug' his best friend – though it was more like rolling through his legs. It was funny, but without words it felt like they were communicating better than they had since he'd Leaped into Jack O'Neill, and Sam prayed wholeheartedly and unreservedly that he made it back in one piece from this trip. Al was his guide, and much as he relied on his superior intelligence to get by during his Leaps, it was Al's advice that really made the difference.

"THANK YOU!" Sam mouthed, as widely and obviously as possible.

"NO PROBLEM!" Al seemed to shout back, then reached into his pocket for what look like a small card. It bore a tacky cartoon of a smiling sunshine with 'GOOD LUCK' written around it, and as the hologram opened it up for his friend to see, Sam read best wishes from Al, Tina, Gooshie – and even Jack! So that's what his writing looked like. Ah well, too late for that now.

A knock came at the door, breaking Sam out of his reverie.

"O'Neill, the time is 0755. We must continue to the Gateroom immediately," Teal'c called from the other side. "Do you require assistance?"

Ironic, Sam thought, that just as one source of guidance falls away, another comes to offer his services.

"I'll be out in just a moment!" The scientist yelled back, turning to Al with a sad smile on his face. "SEE YOU SOON!" He mouthed.

Al gave him two thumbs up, then made a shooshing motion that Sam took to mean 'get out of here'.

Nodding, Sam unlocked the door and pushed it open. Once outside, Teal'c took the handles expertly and manoeuvred them in the direction of the Gateroom. Al had vanished, but as the pair came through the blast doors, Sam saw his friend admiring the Stargate with undisguised amazement. It took all of Sam's self-control not to do the same, having only seen it briefly the other day – it was beautiful.

"Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c," General Hammond's voice boomed from the observation deck. "Are you set to go?"

"Yessir," Sam replied, his words matched by those of Teal'c.

"Very well. Sergeant?"

Master Sergeant Davis' voice came over the tannoy, echoing in the large expanse below.

"Opening the iris. Dialling the Alpha site, now."

Suddenly the ring bearing what Sam now knew to be 39 stylised constellations began to move. It stopped, and one of the 7 chevrons appeared to activate.

"Chevron 1 encoded!" MSgt Davis announced, as the machinery engaged the next part of the sequence. "Chevron 2 encoded! ..."

As the process continued, Sam tossed an amazed glance towards Al and their eyes met. Even without sound their mutual meaning was clear. This was incredible, and Sam suddenly got the impression that if Al were ever given the opportunity to step through the 'Gate he would do so with little hesitation.

"Chevron 7 encoded!"

Davis' countdown ended abruptly, and Sam watched for signs of the imminent wormhole intently. He did not have to wait long, as the event horizon formed with a great _kawhoosh!_

"I too am continually amazed by this technology, O'Neill."

Teal'c's deep voice interrupted his moment of child-like wonder, and Sam looked up and his 'colleague' smiling down at him with an expression of camaraderie.

"It really is something..." He managed to reply, too stunned to form a proper sentence. A quick glance at Al showed that the Observer was equally goggle-eyed even now, though his mouth was moving so there must be someone back in the 'present' who was getting a commentary like no other.

Sam's rapture couldn't last forever though, and Teal'c suddenly snapped to attention and bowed in the direction of the observation deck. Following his lead, Sam saluted General Hammond as best he could. It was time to go...

"Godspeed, and we'll see you in two days," the General's authoritative voice echoed through the chamber.

"Yes sir," Sam acknowledged, his emotions warring between trepidation and over-eagerness. "Ok Teal'c, let's go."

The big Jaffa took hold of the wheelchair by way of assent, and the pair began to move up the ramp and towards the event horizon. Sam almost told him to slow down, so keen he was to observe every inch of this giant ring – and the stationary, _stable_ wormhole before them. Time really did fly, and always at the worst time possible.

Together they hesitated just before the event horizon, and Sam fought an urge to run his fingers through its water-like surface. It was almost unreal, this thing before him – he was so close, and yet there was no sensation of being pulled towards it. Its borders were contained within this amazing piece of technology, nearly 30 floors below the surface, and yet it would take him to another planet.

Sam shot one last glance at Al before he and Teal'c entered the wormhole. He registered both awe and encouragement on the other man's face, along with signs of extreme anxiety around his eyes and in the twisting of his hands. That was the real story of course – Al's moods were far too fluid to be contained as blankly as Teal'c's. Sam smiled as best he could, knowing that his own expression probably matched his friend's. Neither of them really knew what was coming...

...and then it hit him. Feet first, the sensation of cold plunging through his nerves as his limbs were demolecularised and sent flying between stars. A calm voice in the back of his mind told him to sit back and enjoy the ride, another gibbered with near panic, while the remainder strove to cope by over-analysing the process of Stargate travel and wishing for the opportunity to talk with Captain Carter about her theories as himself, not as Jack O'Neill.

Sam's last thought as his head and torso entered the wormhole was this felt an awful lot like his initial Leap from the Stallions Gate Complex to Tom Stratton's bed, then closed his eyes...

Feeling the cold dissipate, and sensing that all limbs were in one piece – including the aching ankle – Sam wondered why everything was so quiet. This Alpha site was meant to be some kind of boot camp, wasn't it?

Sam opened his eyes, expecting to see the ubiquitous trees mentioned in so many of Colonel O'Neill's mission reports... but there were none.

He was seated at a desk, in someone's office, wearing someone else's clothes.

Sam fought tears of frustration and disappointment, quashing the little voice that cheered its joy that all was still right with the world. Was he still on Earth? Most likely... but why? To be so close such an amazing chance for explanation and scientific discovery, and then... nothing. Why why why?

Then, quite suddenly, Sam Beckett realised where he was. He straightened and looked around, just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

"Oh boy."

* * *

Author's note: Mwahahahahaha - a little cliffy for you all! Guesses on what's happened are welcomed :) 


	23. Psychoanalysis

Disclaimer: I own a giant fluffy kiwi.

Reviewers: thank you, merci, bitte sehr, grazie, etc etc. Yes, I am an evil cow – but I will give you a clue: he's still male _and_ at the SGC. As for the rest, RAFO! And here, have a never-ending McFlurry to keep you going :)

* * *

**September 26th 1998 – Project Quantum Leap****Jack's POV**

Jack wasn't too sure what to make of this. He'd woken up at around 0600 as usual (but without the normal high-decibel failsafes), then dozed happily until closer to 0700. Too happily. And now he was paying the price.

As usual his dreams in this semi-awake period were much more vivid and lucid than whatever it was his unconscious mind came up with during the night, but for the first time in several years he found himself dreaming of Charlie. Not the Charlie who had died so tragically, but his son as he would be now – just starting high school, showing off his first football injury to a proud mom, fishing trips with his dad... The images of normality, of a happy nuclear family, were almost too much. The dream reset itself several times, but each one had a happy ending. Charlie was alive, Sara still loved him, and in one dream there was even a baby daughter.

Eventually he awoke fully, his mind reeling from what might have been. What might still be, if Dr Beckett's Leaps ever took him to the right time and place. But Jack knew that he had to dismiss that possibility right now – otherwise he would live in hope forever, waiting for the empty hole in his life to be filled by a sudden shift in history. He had to convince himself that their made-up story for that evil son-of-a-bitch Kinsey – that the SGC wouldn't have gone ahead without a suicidal Jack O'Neill – was true, and that no amount of hope and prayer would ever bring his family back to him. If by some miracle it did, so be it, but he couldn't afford to hang around waiting for that day.

Clenching his teeth and fighting back tears, Jack's body shook with the strain of pushing those traitorous demons back into the most private part of his mind. It was better this way, he told himself, praying that this would be the last time that he would relive the grieving process.

After what felt like an age, Jack found the energy to sit up and look around him. Same old Waiting Room, walls shining somewhat eerily, but otherwise plainly furnished. He was still five days in the future, and this Sam Beckett guy was still running around the SGC looking like him. Weird.

He doubled checked the time on the clock Ziggy had kindly provided after he'd told her that this room felt like a stasis chamber – no easily visible doors, no windows, no indication of time or location – and realised that 'he' and Teal'c would soon be heading to the Alpha site. At least he didn't have to put up with those nuggets anyway... there was a saving grace to being caught in a time travel experiment after all. That and the alleged saving of his life.

Jack padded over to the shower room, and enjoyed the hot jets of water. Somehow everything always seemed better after a good shower, though as he stepped out of the cubicle he noted that his knees were a little stiff. His reflection still showed Dr Beckett's face, but for once he welcomed his usual aches and pains – no matter who his reflection belonged to, he was still in (and in control of) his own body.

Right there and then his mischievous side took over, and in a fit of childish glee he decided that since no one could see _him_ – as opposed to Dr Beckett – stubble would be fine. Hah! Why should he risk cutting himself by shaving a face that only he could feel and no one else could see? It would be a health & safety risk if nothing else. Let no one say that Jack O'Neill hadn't thought about the reality of this situation!

As he exited the shower room, clean and fully clothed (though unshaved), Ziggy's unexpected voice made him jump.

"Good morning, Colonel."

"Oi! Give a guy some warning would you?!" He exclaimed. "Hey, you weren't peeking I hope?"

"Of course not, Colonel," the computer replied, though her smooth and minx-like tone sounded just a little too smooth and minx-like. "I have a visitor asking to see you."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "A visitor? At this hour of the morning? It's not even 8am, for crying out loud. I haven't even had breakfast!" He paused a moment, thinking. "Is it Al?"

"Admiral Calavicci is currently in the Imaging Chamber," Ziggy informed him. "Your visitor is Dr Verbeena Beeks."

"Doctor of what?" Jack probed, figuring that Al must be getting one last look at his best bud... and wondering what kind of name 'Verbeena' was.

"Dr Beeks is the psychiatrist who is assigned to Project Quantum Leap. She apol–"

"A _shrink?_ A _shrink_ wants to poke around in my head _now?_ So much for privacy..." Now was just not the time, he decided – not after his shaky start to the day. "And there I was believing you guys when you said that this wasn't a military base."

"If you would allow me to finish –"Oops, Jack thought, she sounds mad now. Hmm. A super-smart computer with an ego and a female personality. What was this Beckett guy _thinking? _"Dr Beeks does not have to meet with you now, however she thought that you could share breakfast. She also apologises for not being able to see you until now."

"Oh, so it was already a forgone conclusion that she would?"

"Dr Beeks meets with every Leapee to monitor their psychological well-being and to assist them with any problems such as concern for family and friends," Ziggy stated sternly.

"Uh-huh, and I'll bet she writes a nice little report for her research too – right?"

There was a moment's silence.

"Colonel O'Neill?" A new voice asked. Definitely female, but very professional. Not Ziggy. Dr Beeks then?

"Yeh...?"

"My name is Verbeena Beeks. You don't have to talk to me, you don't even have to look at me – all I'm asking is whether you'd like some company for breakfast."

Jack snorted. "Well that does sound real tempting, doesn't it? Breakfast with a shrink, or breakfast with a mute. Hmmm, let me think..."

At this point, Ziggy obviously decided that enough was enough. "Colonel, we have made allowances and by-passed several regulations on your behalf. If you wish to continue enjoying such privileges as access to the Control Room, I insist that you speak with Dr Beeks."

"Woah!" Jack was taken aback by the computer's vehemence. "You sounded like my 6th grade math teacher there, Z! She used to give me plenty of detention too, but you're right – I do enjoy being able to walk from one room to the next, even if fresh air is a little too much to ask for. Ok, Dr Beeks can come in."

"Thank you, Colonel," the psychiatrist replied after a moment's pause. Maybe both of them had been waiting for a response from Ziggy. Jack knew that he had.

Sighing and hoping that he hadn't mortally offended the real power behind this base, Jack made a vague attempt to tidy his bed and had just sat down when Dr Beeks entered with a small trolley. To her credit, she also wore a rather sheepish expression.

"It's good to meet you, Colonel – and I apologise if this seems like some kind of ultimatum," she smiled, and suddenly this woman reminded Jack of Carter. They weren't at all similar in looks, but Dr Beeks was obviously a smart lady and she'd also managed to slip straight through his antagonism with ease.

"Uh, yeh," he mumbled, trying to recover as quickly as possible. "Well this isn't any restaurant, but I'll take the bed if you want to sit on the chair?"

"Sounds great," she replied. "Coffee?"

"Uh, juice – if you've got some."

"Sure do."

Jack blinked a few times, wondering if this was some kind of trick. He'd only met a few shrinks in his time, and most of them he'd managed to turn away before they got this close, but none of those whom he hadn't escaped had been quite so... normal.

Dr Beeks handed him a glass of juice and regarded him carefully. "Don't worry, I won't bite. I've read your file, such as it is. You do."

He coughed reflexively and desperately tried to keep all the juice in the glass, rather than sloshing it all over the floor. "You're... erm... rather direct."

"When necessary," she acknowledged. "Now – there's toast and some cereal, I think it's Froot Loops. For you, I presume?" A small smile flickered around her otherwise professional eyes.

"Mmm. Yes."

Jack hopped down from the bed and fetched a bowl, wondering if this was in aid of something more. It made sense for the shrink to want to see him – though he couldn't understand why she was here now, when he'd been in the complex for over 24 hours. That and she was so damn friendly. Twin frustrations warred within him: one reminding him that no psychiatrist left a visit like this empty-handed, that she would gain some knowledge of him simply by observing his reactions; and the other declaring that Al was his only 'friend' in this place, because neither Gooshie nor Tina could stand him. Couldn't he just play along for a little while?

"Whatcha doin' here so early?" He finally asked, chewing on the cereal goodness. Full fat milk was great too.

Dr Beeks finished her mouthful of toast before replying. "I was told that a new Leapee had arrived the other night, but an emergency elsewhere kept me from visiting you sooner. The call was upgraded to high priority after your, ahem, stunt yesterday morning... but I got here as soon as I could."

"I'll bet Gooshie was pushing for _someone_ to come and talk me out of it," Jack fished.

"Yes, and I offered the name of a colleague – but everything worked out fine in the end, didn't it?"

"'Spose so." Jack shook his head and took another swig of his juice.

"Are you wondering what's going to happen when Dr Beckett steps through that Stargate, Colonel?"

The question was put together nicely. Innocent enough on the surface, but still probing. It looked like shrinks couldn't turn 'it' off any more than soldiers could.

"Yeh." There didn't seem to be much harm in an honest reply. "I know what he'll be thrown into, but I can't help but think he's going to get caught out unless this Leap ends quickly."

"Mmm," Dr Beeks agreed. "Admiral Calavicci is worried too. He's in the Imaging Chamber now, but Dr Fisichella told me that the structure of the base appears to be disrupting the audio signal."

Jack noticed that she was very careful to refer to everyone by his or her proper title. Was that to make sure that neither of them got confused by the other's references, or for the benefit of some recording?

"Can we listen in?" he asked, realising that if Al was watching Dr Beckett right now... he'd be in the Gateroom, or as close as he'd ever get to it.

Dr Beeks was silent. In fact she looked a little nervous as she sipped her coffee. What was she thinking? Did she think he was mad?

"Do you believe in the Stargate, Dr Beeks? Or do you think we're having some kind of mass hallucination?"

It was worth asking the question straightforwardly, he figured. Mackenzie had taken a while to get used to some of the antics around the SGC himself, and he was in the middle of it. And if she thought that he was nuts she might be having doubts about Al and the rest of the crew as well.

"Uh... I'm not sure if I understand your question correctly, Colonel."

The comment was a false one, and Jack knew that she knew he knew... or something like that. His natural sarcasm came to the surface. "It's simple enough really. Do you believe in little grey men, or do you think I'm gaga and leading the gang astray?"

"I'm... erm... reserving judgement until I've had a chance to interview Admiral Calavicci," she replied, finally.

"Ah, so you're not sure and you want to hear it from the horse's mouth? Lady, I _am _the horse." Jack was somewhat offended. Al had spoken with Dr Beckett twice last night, and _he_ seemed to believe in the Stargate.

"With all due respect, Colonel... Uh... We have very little means of verifying your claims at this stage."

So that's how it was. "And you don't believe Dr Beckett? Your precious Sam?"

The psychiatrist's expression hardened. "Dr Beckett has not been home in nearly 5 years. His reflection changes drastically every few days, and he has solved problems in so many people's lives that we cannot keep count any more." Her voice quietened. "We support him as best we can, but contact is often brief and restricted to the job at hand. Dr Beckett's personality appears to be unaffected by his unusual lifestyle, however none of us really knows what personal damage may have been inflicted upon him by Leaping."

"You're saying that he might be a little cuckoo as well?" Jack couldn't believe it. From what he'd heard of this guy from Al, Gooshie and Tina he was... well... damn near perfect, as far as they were concerned.

"I cannot confirm any such assumption without a full psych evaluation," Dr Beeks' tone was now defensive. "However a few of Dr Beckett's recent judgements have been, well, suspect."

"Riiight," Jack muttered. Maybe psychiatrists were all the same after all, and he already knew how hard it was to shake shrinks from their supposedly well-informed and highly researched opinions.

Then it hit him, and he looked at the clock. It was 0758. Maybe there was still time to convince her.

"Would you class Al – Admiral Calavicci – as a fruitcake?" He asked hurriedly, forgoing all sarcasm for once in his life and grabbing a paper serviette from the trolley. His head darted around the room quickly, finally locating a pen in Dr Beek's front pocket and plucking it out. "Excuse me."

"Erm... no – despite his unorthodox behaviour he is–"

"Ziggy? Ziggy!" Jack was sketching the Stargate as best he could, though his high school teachers had actually applied to have him removed from their classes all those years ago. He knew enough about this Imaging Chamber to know that all transmission would be lost as soon as Dr Beckett stepped through the Stargate, but that until then there was nothing wrong with Al's eyesight. "Can you patch us through so we can talk to Al? Please?"

Geez, he hoped she wasn't still pissed after this morning's little run in... All he wanted was for Al to tell the sceptical Dr Beeks here what is was that he was looking at – and right now, that should be a big, beautiful Stargate. The only proof for his story that they had so far was Dr Beckett's confirmation last night – _while he was on the surface_. But if Al could see the Stargate and describe it closely enough the sketch he'd just drawn – hmmm... how many constellations were there again? – she'd have to accept the truth then, wouldn't she? It wasn't like he'd told them much about it other than the fact that it was a circle, right?

Dr Beeks was looking at him very strangely now. Crap. Maybe he'd just convinced her that he was insane rather than gaining a second chance.

"Ziggy please, I know you don't like me but Dr Beeks has an idea that Dr Beckett might be even crazier than me!"

Now that was probably wasn't the best way he could have phrased it, insulting an egotistical computer's creator, but hopefully it'd provoke a reaction... hopefully...

"Opening a communications channel, Colonel O'Neill," Ziggy finally commented. "You may speak whenever you wish."

"You're a doll! Hey Al!" Jack shouted. "Can you hear me buddy?"

"No need to yell, Jack, Lord Almighty..."

They couldn't see him, but the mutter was very definitely Al's. Jack suddenly wondered what Gooshie was making of this sudden demand of his, as he added a few ripples to the center of the Stargate to show it was active... and a mini-sketch of the 'kawhoosh' to the side, just for good measure.

"Sorry to interrupt, but if you can see the Stargate can you please describe it? Now, before Dr Beeks decides that we're both loons?"

"I object!" The lady shrink protested.

"Uh, ok Jack," Al replied nonetheless, his voice halfway between harried and gob-smacked. "Well... it's... it's gorgeous..."

His voice trailed off and Jack rolled his eyes. The reaction was normal – in fact he didn't know anyone who didn't like to just sit and stare at a Stargate, especially an active one.

"Al? AL! Is the Stargate active?"

"Erm, no – well, almost. I think," Al was hesitant in his reply. "One of the rings is moving round and round. It stops every so often and a triangle around the edge glows and moves. Damn I wish I could hear this thing."

"Ok Al, you ain't seen nothing yet. How many chevrons are there?"

"Chevrons?"

"The triangles!"

"Oh, er... one, two, three... seven! Seven chevrons! And they're all glowing red now – oh my God!"

Jack had been pointing out the seven pre-drawn chevrons in his sketch to Dr Beeks, but stopped at Al's exclamation.

"Hey, did you just see the kawhoosh?"

"The what?"

"The kawhoosh!" Jack emphasised, tapping the second smaller drawing for Dr Beeks' benefit.

"Uh, yeh, I guess that's the word... like water streaming out of a jet and being sucked back in. But Jack, this is amazing!"

"Tell the doc all about it Al, please, before she commits me. Or slaps me."

Jack looked at Dr Beeks and caught a truly dirty look on her face. He really hoped this would work.

"It's... it's like a huge puddle, but it's vertical! It's like it's floating there, just minding its own business... and it's glowing..." Al's voice trailed off, and when he spoke again the wonder in his voice had been replaced by a certain degree of fear. "That Teal'c guy is pushing Sam up the ramp in that wheelchair of his now, Jack. Just tell me he's going to be ok – please?"

Jack was taken aback. "Uh, sure – I mean most people get a bit disoriented on their first time through, but he shouldn't be used to weird molecular stuff with all that Leaping? Right, Al?"

"Right... well, they're nearly there... bye Sam..."

"You'll see him again, Admiral, don't worry."

Finally Dr Beeks had joined in the conversation, though Jack couldn't tell whether she had accepted his story yet. If she was anything like Carter, she might want a chance to think it through without him babbling in the background.

"Jack, they're going through now... oh Lord... it's rippling... it _is_ like a puddle..."

"Don't worry, Al, everything's go–"

"Teal'c?"

"Yes, O'Neill?"

"What am I doing in a wheelchair?"

* * *

Author's note: Come on... you didn't think I was going to give the game away quite that quickly did you? Have a good weekend! :) 


	24. From Bad to Better

Disclaimer: I own a TV that doesn't work in the UK unless plugged into a digital satellite receiver, because TV signals are transmitted differently in its home country of Australia. I do not own Stargate SG1, Quantum Leap, nor any other tv series.

Reviewers: HUGE APOLOGIES!! And big thank yous!! I honestly didn't mean to leave you hanging this long, but a combination of real life and a confusing lack of motivation kept knocking this off its top spot. I didn't realise how many of you there were out there in internet land either – I'm amazed! Here, have a mince pie :)

I think I may have bitten off more than I want to chew with this weird 1-POV-per-chapter format I'm using – it would have been fine on a shorter story, but it's getting a little annoying now. Still, if I don't finish what I've started it'll eat at me for the rest of the fic! As such some chapters may be part-plot, part-interlude as the storyline fiddles its way around the different characters and their personalities before getting on with the action. Thank you for your patience!

Oh yes, and thanks to all who pointed out that there are 9 chevrons, not 7 – It make complete sense but for some reason I never realised it before. Doh!

P.S. I have purchased for myself an early Xmas pressie – paid subscription to If you haven't yet done so yourselves (I took over a year, so I in't criticising!) consider it a potentially worthwhile investment – after all, life wouldn't be quite so much fun without now would it? :)

* * *

**September 26th, 1998 – Stallions Gate**

**Tina's POV**

Why why why do bad days get worse and worse with every passing hour? It seemed to be one of those petty yet immutable laws of the universe, affecting even the least significant aspects of the aforementioned bad day. Although – as even Tina knew – it was the small things that were the most important, and a truly bad day was made up of many small things going wrong, cascading on into bigger things that would also go wrong. Like that butterfly whajimmy with tornadoes and stuff… or was it a moth? Either way this was shaping up to be a very bad day, she decided as she drove into town.

It all started when Al came home the night before. Tina had been asleep in bed, as one would be at that godforsaken hour (unless of course there was no Leapee in the Waiting Room, in which case the pair of them would probably be out partying or doing unspeakable things all over the house), and… mmm… what was she griping about again? Oh that's right – Al's tossing and turning! Because he didn't just come in late, oh no, he wanted a chat. At 2am on a Sunday morning when they _both_ had to do overtime the next day! In which case it was really all Jack's fault, because if he hadn't Leaped into the Waiting Room so close to a weekend she and Al would have been having fun last night instead of getting ratty with each other at 2 in the morning. Hmph.

So Al came home at some ridiculous hour (considering the situation back at Project Quantum Leap) _and_ he wanted a chat _and_ – and this was the worst part – he spent the rest of the night either tossing and turning, or snoring like a hamster lumber jacking in the woods. Not that Tina had ever heard a hamster lumber jacking in the woods, but if she ever did she was sure that it would sound like Al's snoring last night.

_Then_ she'd been rudely awakened at 6.30am by the alarm. The extra loud alarm that was designed to break through Calavicci-Martinez-O'Farrell-style hangovers. And the sun wasn't even up! And it was a Sunday! Ok, so Sam might be travelling to another planet 'today', but from what Al had said the night before she'd gathered that he was pretty confident about the whole thing. Maybe Al was just worried for his best friend, which was really sweet, but it was still damned inconsiderate to keep your girlfriend awake all night and set the alarm for _6.30am!!!!_

Muttering for all she was worth, Tina gave up looking for a space and double-parked as close to her favourite coffee shop as she dared. A morning like this deserved a tall mocha with two shots of espresso. And cream on top. Maybe even sprinkles if they had some. She slammed the car door shut, reopened it to get her purse, and slammed it again (twice as loudly) before realising that nice old Mrs Garcia who always sat outside the general store was dressed in her very best clothes, and staring at her. Was her hair out of place? Oh, what did it matter? It wasn't as if she was going to be giving Al the benefit of her usual coy flirting today, not after last night's show.

Suddenly, bells started ringing in the tower of the old Spanish-style church on the other side of the square, and Mrs Garcia pushed herself up from the bench with an arthritic groan. Tina idly wondered who was getting married, then snapped back to reality. Double-parking at wasn't unusual in this street – the Stallions Gate complex was filled with scientists after all, and this was the only one decent coffee shop within 10 miles – but on a Sunday? Those weren't wedding bells, they were calling the faithful into morning mass! Including Mauro the sexy Italian barista from Napoli! No mocha with cream, and no Mauro! Bad day syndrome had struck again.

Back on the road, Tina pondered the plague upon Earth that was the male species. Considering her frame of mind it would be fair to say that Tina's scientific analysis was by no means as objective as she would generally strive to be, but her little voices of reason had given up pointing that out a long time ago. Her statistically insignificant sample of the aforementioned male species consisted of Al, Gooshie, Sam, Mauro and Jack – though at least they were equally split between military, scientific, genius, sexy and… complete idiot. Though the title of complete idiot could belong to more than one of them.

Her first port of call was Al. Dear Al, boyfriend of many years, married God only knew how many times, occasionally hinted that he might love her, but with nary a chance of ever proposing because he was still too cut up over his first wife Beth. Oh yes, and there was his infidelity, and his infuriating habit of letting Project Quantum Leap have just as much free rein as he could allow then suddenly yanking it back in as soon as that Kinsey yelled "jump!". The fact that they could all lose their jobs if he didn't was beside the point.

_Men!_

Tina accelerated and she moved on to her next target: Gooshie. Sweet, funny without realising it, a little too easy to offend, but brilliant in his own way. And bad breath. That was a real sticking point. That and – let's face it – he couldn't hold a candle up to Al when it came to the horizontal tango. A _nice_ man, that was Gooshie. So nice, so cute in his nervousness, so irritating in his complete obsession with his work sometimes, and the only time he ever got mad was when someone – ok, Tina – borrowed his graphics tablet for a day. Maybe a few days. It was Project property wasn't it? Not his… But even then he hadn't even gotten properly mad, which was what she'd been fishing for – proof that he actually had a temper and wasn't so… so… _nice!_

_Men!_

And then there was Sam. What a sweetheart – handsome, the smartest person she'd ever met, somehow managed to put up with Al as a best friend so he must be incredibly patient (a little like herself, Tina decided). But then Sam had never flirted with her… not even subtly. Was it because she was Al's girl? She knew she was desirable, hell even testosterone-deficient Gooshie fancied the pants off her, but not Sam – oh no. Or was it because he was already taken? Not that she wanted him to actually give in and have an affair with her – because she knew what it was like when a husband destroyed an entire relationship like that and it hurt y'know, it really hurt – but some acknowledgment would be nice. Looking is fine, just not touching, so get on with some looking damn it!

_Men!_

Who's next? Oh… Mauro. All man. Totally and utterly. One big hunk of complete maleness. Even other men knew it, like his other half, Enzo. Why were all the true sex gods gay? Not that she'd ever even kissed Mauro (air kisses didn't count did they?), but that smoldering look in his eyes proved that the cliché had some basis in reality after all. She didn't need to touch that one to know he was a sex god. And Italian to boot – real Italian, born there, unlike descendents like Al. Mauro was probably the single most common cause for women in this area to go to confession, seeking absolution for their impure thoughts, and somehow he was still allowed through the doors of the church! Maybe the priest played for the same side, Tina mused, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

_Men!_

Slamming on the brakes, Tina halted just before the security gate that guarded the entrance to the Stallions Gate Complex. Normally she'd smile sweetly at the young men on duty, but today they ranked about as highly as a wasp on her list. It wasn't just Al who'd caused her bad mood, it was the entire male species. All of them would bear the brunt of her displeasure!

And on to the real problem of the moment, that Jack O'Neill. Certain people had conveniently forgotten that he'd not only been incredibly uncooperative on arrival, but that he'd tried to _kill Al!_ Ok so when push came to shove he hadn't, but he'd come damned close to it! Poor Gooshie tiptoed around the man like he was a cobra, and yet Al – who was supposed to be in charge of everything including staff welfare – was now busily making friends with him! And Jack, damn him, was a sarcastic military half-wit with no apparent appreciation of the fact that they were trying to save his life!! This project wasn't all about national security, no matter how hard the Senate tried, it was about science!

Tina slammed the car door shut with such vehemence that she set off the alarm on the one next door. She didn't know who it belonged to and she didn't care. Probably a man who needed a big powerful vehicle to flatter his ego and make up for deficiencies in other areas. The guards could deal with its high-pitched whining, she huffed, she had to get to work. On a Sunday.

_MEN!_

Sometimes they made her want to give it all up and become a lesbian. Some of them couldn't even be real men. Some of them were just too damned faithful. Some of them were entirely unavailable for different reasons. And some… oooooooh… some of them just made her mad. Scratch that. All of them made her mad. And because of them, she'd had very little sleep, no coffee, was coming into work on a _Sunday_, had to deal with some military drone hovering around her workspace all day, and may have even gotten a speeding ticket on the way in.

And now she was here. Project Quantum Leap. The lift doors swung open and Tina stepped into the passageway, noting immediately that only the usual Marine guards were on duty. No other staff had been called in today, that much was certain (many scientists were dedicated enough to come in on a Saturday, though the majority of yesterday's batch probably hadn't planned to get caught in a lock-down as well), only those who had the displeasure of direct contact with the current Leapee. Yet another reason why knowing 4 of her 5-man sample was bad for a woman's health and sanity.

Tina took a deep breath and began to jab her pass-code into the keypad, waiting for clearance to enter the Control Room, but was interrupted by the door swinging open before she'd even finished.

"Hi Tina! See you in a minute – you'd never guess – got to rush! Bye!"

"Wha?"

Her jaw hung open for a few moments as she watched Dr Verbeena Beeks running – _running! _– down the hallway in some kind of hyperactive disarray.

Turning her attention back to the Control Room, Tina stepped through and all anti-male thoughts were discarded as irrelevant as she turned her attentions to an abnormally cheerful Gooshie.

"What's happened?"

"Good morning, Tina! Oh, Dr Beeks' car alarm has gone off in the car park and it won't shut off," he explained, oblivious to the heat rising in Tina's cheeks. She thanked her lucky stars that she'd bothered to put make-up on this morning, particularly her foundation. "There's also some other news that you might like to hear…"

This wasn't like Gooshie, teasing her this way. She was sure that he knew she hated being teased by now, and that she never forgave anyone unless they had the biggest, juiciest piece of gossip on the planet… plus after her man-hating session on the way in, today was not the day to beat about the bush.

"Gooshie…" she growled menacingly.

Something in Gooshie's body language tensed – he must have finally picked up that Tina was in a bad mood. "Uh… uh… Jack…"

"Jack what?!" Tina fumed. It was just like Gooshie to get in a tizz like this, and if it was anything like yesterday… Her heart skipped a beat. Where was Al? Had he? Again?! He might infuriate her, but she still lo-… lo-… liked him. A bit. Sometimes. "He hasn't taken Al hostage again has he?"

"No, Tina, he hasn't."

Al's voice was like balm to Tina's enraged and panicky soul, at least for a moment.

She turned to find him on the other side of the room and ran over to give him a big hug, then slapped him.

"What the hell was that for?!" He exclaimed, rubbing his cheek and wincing.

"Don't you _ever_ wake me up at 6.30am on a Sunday ever again!" Tina thundered. "Between that and your snoring I had no sleep, and Mauro's gone to mass!"

Al blinked in confusion. "Mauro? Who's Mauro?"

"Coffee shop," Gooshie supplied, earning himself twin glares from the couple. "Er, I put a pot on earlier Tina – I'll go get you some? Um… right…" He slipped out of the Control Room in a hurry, clearly glad to get away.

"Can we start again, please?" Al pleaded, as Tina turned her glare back towards him. "I'm sorry if I kept you up all night, but I was really worried about Sam –"

"Oh, Sam Sam Sam," Tina interrupted. "Sam'll be fine. You said yourself that he wasn't worried about going through that Stargate thing –"

"Yeh well, he didn't need to be –"

"See! I told you, just let the man get on with it and all will be well! Now, do we really have to be here on a –"

"Sunday? Yes. And can I finish, please?"

Tina's eyes narrowed. Maybe she'd missed something here. What was that gossip that Gooshie had seem fit to dangle before her without actually passing it on?

"Ok…"

"Thank you," her long-suffering partner sighed, pausing a moment to gather his thoughts while Tina awaited impatiently. "Well, I arrived early and set up the Imaging Chamber so I could at least watch Sam go through this wormhole, even if I couldn't see him off –"

"Right, so I lost sleep because you wanted to wave Sam goodbye, is that it?" Tina accused, crossing her arms and tapping her feet in a way that she knew Al understood as 'get on with it!'.

"Only partially, as it turns out," Al continued, a smug grin on his face. "Y'see, I saw Sam starting to go through the 'Gate, but then the signal cut out –"

"'Cos he was on another planet and Ziggy can't transmit that far – right –"

"Wrong."

"Excuse me?" Tina was taken aback. "You mean she can?! Ziggy, how –"

"No, Dr –"

A piercing whistle cut through the air, causing Tina to clap her hands to her ears.

"Hello? I said let me finish, damn it," Al bridled. "If you don't want to know what's going on, just tell me and you can head home to that bed you obviously love more than your work!"

"Uh…"

"Fine, just go then – I'll see you this evening," Al stated, pointedly turning his back on her and examining a monitor. "Is she still there, Ziggy?"

"Don't answer that!" Tina wailed, her confusion almost unbearable now. She hated being the last person to know, and she hated being ignored even more. "I promise to be quite until you're finished this time. See – cross my heart."

Al swung round on his chair, eyes rolling as she made the playground gesture. "You'll listen till I'm done?"

"I promised didn't I?" Tina was indignant, and would have protested further had a look from Al not silenced her. Since when could he jump from being in the doghouse to putting her in there so quickly? It wasn't fair!

"Hmm. Well here's what happened," Al continued, obviously eager to share despite their disagreement. "That Teal'c guy was pushing Sam's wheelchair through the event horizon, as I was saying, and suddenly the image vanished – just as we expected – but the next thing I knew, Dr Beeks was running into the Control Room with eyes as big as plates, saying that Sam had Leaped!"

"What?!" Tina yelped before clapping her hands over her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled through her fingers.

"Right… well it wasn't just that he'd Leaped – someone else had already taken Jack's place."

Tina's eyes widened, but her hands remained firmly in place. Jack was gone, but what if the new Leapee was just as bad… or worse?

"It was a seamless switch – one minute Verbeena was sharing breakfast with Jack, the next his glass of juice is dropping out of thin air and there's a body on the bed. Amazing – I've watched Ziggy's tapes over and over, and it's practically instantaneous. Look, I'll show you."

Tina was itching to ask who was in the Waiting Room, but she decided to wait patiently in case Al got mad again and quietly watched the video that Ziggy called up, smiling and nodding in al the right places. _Get on with it_, she prayed silently.

"Now thankfully this guy is a little more talkative than Jack was to start with – though he's still kinda suspicious," Al went on, finally. "I've mentioned Kinsey to him, since that got a reaction out of Jack. He definitely recognised the name, so I tried a few things that Jack talked about like that NID group, and the erm, Asgard… but at that point he really clammed up, and –"

"Coffee's here!" Gooshie gushed as he paraded through the Control Room bearing a huge mug. "Sorry it took so long, but it is fresh," he added, his eyes as cheerful as they had been earlier – probably because Jack O'Neill was gone, Tina realised. She could relate to that.

"Thank –" she glanced at Al and received a wry nod. Normally he'd get a nasty response for something like that, making her feel that she had to ask permission to talk! Hah! But there was still a little more gossip to extract. "Thank you very much, Gooshie – _you_ are a star." Unlike Al, to whom she redirected her attention. "You were saying?"

Another body bundled into the Control Room suddenly, interrupting Tina's ongoing struggle to find out what the _hell_ was going on around here.

"Al!" Dr Beeks exclaimed. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes, all's good – I was just filling Tina in," Al replied casually, avoiding Tina's gaze. She knew that he knew that this delaying tactic would be annoying her even further. She opened her mouth, but he carried on with a glimmer in his eye. "How's your car?"

"Fine, fine," the psychologist answered. "I don't know what the fuss was about – well, the alarm went off, but there aren't any scratches or dents. Apparently someone parked next to it just before it started, an angry woman who'd already rattled the guards by nearly crashing into their booth, but still –"

Tina fought her instincts to cry shame on whoever was spreading malicious lies about her driving ability!! She hadn't even come close to hitting the booth, even if she had had to emergency brake to avoid the barrier, but then Al was looking at her very suspiciously now and he knew her temper. A sugary smile might put him off the scent… just keep quiet, Tina ordered herself.

"– go back in and talk to him?" Dr Beeks finished.

"Sure, go right ahead – you're the first person he saw, it's worth a shot," Al nodded his agreement.

Dr Beeks left the room and Gooshie resumed his quiet typing in the far corner, while Tina exalted in having found out just a little more about their mystery guest. It was a _he!_ Another male – but maybe a better one than last time, if Verbeena was happy to go it alone in there. She turned back to Al, her eyes pleading, knowing that she would only be able to stay silent a little longer if he didn't spill the beans now!

Al, to his complete and utter _dis_credit, laughed at the sight of her. "Tina, you're a highly intelligent woman – practically a genius – so why are you so… so… female?"

That did it.

Tina rose from her seat, enraged. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mean that in a bad way, Tina – I just mean that you like gossiping in the break room, you have highs and lows more quickly than I can keep track of –"

"Have you ever heard of PMT?" She nearly yelled. "It's not my fault, and it's not like you ever complain about my femininity at home!"

Al's eyes flickered sideways, presumably toward Gooshie. "See? There you go again – calm down, babe. You'll give yourself a heart attack, or split a nail – I don't know which you'd think was worse…" He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, I was just making a light hearted observation. You are an intelligent, professional woman working for one of the most cutting edge projects in the world – but sometimes you act like Dolly Parton one of those nutty movies she does. High heels, whole cupboards full of make-up, spending hours in the mall, hormones, trading other people's secrets for the satisfaction of knowing something before someone else does. It's a contradiction, that's all."

"It's not a contradiction Al, it's me," Tina stated flatly. She was hurt. Sure she liked to gossip a little with the girls, but that was no reason to call her Dolly Parton! All those years of standing by him, and this was how Al saw her? "Would you really prefer me to be as staid as Donna all the time?"

"No, no, of course not!" Al's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "You… it wouldn't be you!"

"Well then, I guess this is all part of my charm then, isn't it?" She replied smugly. "Like it or lump it."

"Uh… huh… uh…"

"So, you were telling me about this Leapee?" She continued, realising that by some miracle she might have regained the upper hand.

"Uh… yeh, he gave us his name so we know he's part of Jack's team – but he won't tell us what day it is for him or anything like that. Ziggy's having the same trouble locating Sam as she did before, which we're guessing might mean that we got a straight swap with someone else at the SGC, due to some reaction caused by Sam touching the event horizon. I might have to pay the SGC another visit on the same timeline as before, go look in his office… or something."

Al's voice dwindled into nothing, and he actually looked a little depressed. For all her dizziness, Tina could understand his situation – two Leaps, hard to trace and even harder to pinpoint a purpose for. Not only that, but now there were two secret projects involved, both of which had suffered under Kinsey _and_ dealt with what most considered science fiction.

"There, there, honey," she soothed, hugging him softly. "Don't worry, we'll find him, and he will fix everything up and move on. That's what always happens, isn't it? Why would we fail now? God's on our side, right?"

"Yeh… God, time, fate… whatever…" Al sighed heavily. "He's been gone for so long though…"

"True, true – but that's going to be fixed too," Tina replied fervently. "He'll come back to us someday."

"You believe that?"

"Completely."

The pair of them sat in silence for a moment, and Tina reflected on her earlier bitching session about all men. Yes, they could be infuriating at times, but life would be pretty boring otherwise. She had one here who really did care for her in his own way – well, two if she counted Gooshie… but they really weren't all that suited to each other – and she and Al were. It was funny that after all these years she could realise that after a weird fight other whether she was a genius or Dolly Parton.

Life was strange, especially hers.

Hmm…

"Hey!" She tried to rouse Al, who had buried his head in her bosom. Maybe he hadn't slept too well last night either.

The reply was muffled. "Wha?"

"You never told me his name…" Tina reminded him.

"Didn't I?" Al mumbled. "It's that archaeologist guy, Daniel Jackson."

"Oh… Ziggy, could you show me his details please?"

"On screen."

The computer's voice was disapproving, presumably her way of commenting on the couple's tendency to have a lovers' spat in 'her' Control Room. Tina merely smirked as she looked over the photo and re-read Dr Jackson's resume.

"Very nice…" she purred.

"Tina…" Al muttered warningly.

"What? I'm just doing some research," she replied innocently.

"Right. Just don't try an unsupervised practical, ok?"

She almost choked on her coffee laughing. "He's cute, but too young for me… honest."

"Hah!" Al chuckled, burying his head once again.

Tina just smiled. Maybe bad days did get better after all. Especially without Jack O'Neill in the picture.


	25. The Plot Thickens

Disclaimer: I don't really know who Stargate SG1 and Quantum Leap belong to, but it isn't me.

Readers: Lookie here, another chapter so soon! Aren't you all proud of me? I felt bad, and this one was clambering to get out :)

Today's treat is a nice warm sticky toffee pudding with ice cream…

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**September 21st, 1998 – Alpha site**

**Teal'c's POV**

Teal'c remained silent as he observed O'Neill, hands behind his back.

"What? This isn't my best side?"

"I do not understand."

"It was a joke, Teal'c – funny ha-ha, not funny-strange. All I wanted to know was why I'm in a wheelchair!" O'Neill spread his hands, eyes questioning, his demeanour suggesting some nervousness. "Did I finally cross the line with Janet?"

Interesting.

"O'Neill, do you know where we are?"

"Trees, trees, more trees. A few Marines pointing guns at me. On your order. Could be the Alpha site welcoming committee." O'Neill cocked his head to one side. "Don't tell me – April fool? Though it is September y'know."

The Colonel now had a look in his eye that Teal'c recognised as wary. Strangely, this was possibly the first typical behaviour that the Jaffa had witnessed from the leader of SG1 in over a day. That was to say that his wording and manner of speaking was consistent with his personality, but his memory appeared faulty, and his recent change in temperament had been put down to his rather embarrassing injury. Until now.

Whatever the cause, uncharacteristic behaviour was something that all SGC personnel maintained a lookout for, hence the armed guards. That and news travelled fast, so the fact that the guards knew about O'Neill's injury and he did not appear to had increased the speed of their response.

Teal'c looked over at his brother warrior, whose arms were folded across his chest while his feet tapped an irritated beat on the foot rests. This was not the behaviour of a man with a sprained ankle.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Teal'c asked, a suspicion forming in his mind – though what it meant, or its implications, he did not know.

O'Neill tapped a finger against his lips, a caustic cast to his face. "Funny you should ask that, T – y'see, it's kinda fuzzy. The last clear thing I remember is barrelling on through the 'Gate with Teaset's Jaffa firing on us –"

"Hemuset…" Teal'c murmured.

"Yeh, whatever," O'Neill waved a hand impatiently, then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a sec, you weren't even there – you were… on Chulak." He sat up straighter in the wheelchair, eyes a little wide. "Oh crap. Don't tell me – my today isn't your today, and you think I'm not me?"

Teal'c bowed.

"Oh man! Why me?" The Colonel muttered, clapping both hands to his forehead. "Are you sure? I mean I'm pretty sure I'm me – and people all over the galaxy say there's no one quite like me anywhere else, so… –"

"O'Neill, I know that you are aware of the SGC's protocol in such cases," Teal'c continued calmly. "The sooner we can ascertain the truth, the better. If you could accompany me to the medical centre?"

"'If you could accompany me to the medical centre'…" O'Neill imitated in a mincing voice quite unlike Teal'c's own. "Fine, but can I get out of this wheelchair?"

Teal'c nodded slowly, wondering whether one of his suspicions was about to be confirmed. "Of course."

He signalled to the guards, who maintained a watch as the temporarily crippled man stood on his own two feet without even a wince – only 30 minutes after Dr Fraiser had ordered O'Neill to remain seated for as much of the day as possible. A normal Tau'ri might class such an incident as 'amazing', but all present – bar the entity posing as O'Neill – knew that such coincidences did not happen to SGC personnel.

The entity posing as O'Neill looked at Teal'c warily as he shook his legs out. "Lemme guess, you thought I had a sprained ankle?"

"Is your memory returning?" Teal'c asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No, but it feels kinda tight… and itchy…" The man knelt down and examined his right ankle, while Teal'c held up a hand in case any of the Marines felt like shooting – their aim and numbers should be adequate to head off a surprise attack if he was hiding a weapon around his lower leg. "Aha! Yeh, my ankle is all strapped up. Looks like it was done in an infirmary, not one of my field medicine hatchet jobs, apart from the fact that my ankle is fine."

Teal'c's mind calmly ran through what he just seen, then halted as he detected a flinch from the unknown human (presuming of course that this entity was human) as he stood up again. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope, well, maybe. Unless you know a way to fix these knees…" The man grumbled. "I know, you think I'm not me – but trust me, I know me and I am me, so I want to know who's been me for however long that it's been since I was me! If you know what I mean…"

"Indeed," Teal'c smiled, only half-politely. Inwardly he had to admit that this person was very much like O'Neill. "Shall we continue?"

"Yeh, sure – lead on MacDuff," came the curt reply. "And before you ask, I never knew that saying was from Shakespeare until Daniel told me back on P6K-something or other, ok? Same old Jack here, not trivia man."

"As you say," was Teal'c's non-committal response, as he decided to put a call through to the SGC. General Hammond did have a great deal 'on his mind', as the Tau'ri put it, however the possible possession or replacement of his second-in-command was an urgent matter in itself. "LieutenantJohnson?"

"Sir?" The Marine snapped to attention.

"Please take ColonelO'Neill to the medical centre and ask DrRaste to give him a full medical."

"Yessir –"

"Full?! Oh brother…"

The Lieutenant almost grinned as O'Neill's moan reached them, then his face became serious once more. "Blood tests?"

"Everything," Teal'c acknowledged. "Including a full report on his ankle. Does the medical centre have the facility for MRI and CAT scans?"

"I'm afraid not, sir – we'd need to send him back through the 'Gate for that."

"Very well. Please maintain a guard around ColonelO'Neill's position and await further orders."

"Sir," Lieutenant Johnson saluted, then hesitated before marching on with his men. "Sir… do you really think that that might not be Colonel O'Neill?"

Teal'c merely raised an eyebrow. This was not something that he wished to discuss with a junior officer, and he considered it a grave breach of protocol that the young man should be so forward as to ask. He also knew that Lt. Johnson had recently been rebuked for a lack of discipline, hence his presence at the Alpha site rather than with SG3.

"Uh right… Forget I asked," Johnson saluted again, looking a little embarrassed, then ran off to join the rest of his men.

The Jaffa turned back to the Chappa'ai and dialled the Tau'ri homeworld, then spoke into his radio as the wormhole was established.

"Greetings, this is Teal'c calling for GeneralHammond and DrFraiser." He transmitted his GDO to confirm his identity, and waited for a response.

"Acknowledged," MSgt Davis affirmed. "One moment, sir."

"Son, what seems to be the problem?" General Hammond came to the mike quickly, undoubtedly following the initial announcement of 'unscheduled off-world activation'.

"Could I please speak with both you and DrFraiser on a secure channel, sir?"

"Now? It's highly irregular, Teal'c, but I trust your instincts. Why does everything happen at once?" The General replied, sounding tired. "Give us a moment to set it up and we'll call you back."

The wormhole vanished as the transmission ended, and Teal'c paced around the DHD as he awaited the return call. A few stray Alpha site personnel caught site of him and waved, but from their part-curious, part-outraged expressions he could tell that the news that Colonel O'Neill was under guard had spread quickly. The camp was still small, and so the mere sight of the commander of SG1 with an armed escort would have been enough to set the rumour mill to work, with or without Lt. Johnson. Teal'c sighed, praying that he would be proven wrong – while the remainder of his mind tried to join a few dots.

It did not take long for the SGC to return Teal'c's call, and by now he felt compelled to speak more softly into his radio. He had already glared at several lingering personnel who appeared to have found work to do either around the medical centre or close to the Chappa'ai.

"Teal'c, I'd like you to switch to channel 18 and enter your IDC so that we can establish the secure link to the Briefing Room," said the voice of MSgt Davis.

"As you wish," the Jaffa replied, glad that General Hammond had taken his request seriously.

"Teal'c, Hammond here," the radio crackled. "Dr Fraiser is here too. Would you mind telling us what this is all about?"

He cast an eye about the area before responding, to deter any prying eyes that might be able to read lips.

"GeneralHammond, I am sorry to say that ColonelO'Neill began to exhibit strange behaviour within moments of our arrival at the Alpha site." He heard Dr Fraiser's gasp and continued. "He is currently being held under Marine guard in the medical centre while DrRaste performs tests."

"What sort of strange behaviour are we talking about here, Teal'c?" The General demanded, cutting to the crunch immediately. Though as professional as ever, Teal'c could detect undertones of anxiety and stress in his voice.

"He stood up with no apparent difficulty," the Jaffa reported. "When questioned, he claims that the last thing he remembers is running through the Chappa'ai under fire from Hemuset's Jaffa."

There were a few moments silence while the two SGC officers digested this information.

"So this is a Code Seventeen inquiry?" General Hammond asked eventually, using the SGC's code for 'possible Goa'uld'.

"That was my first thought, although I sensed neither naquadah nor a symbiote. I presume that CaptainCarter sensed nothing also."

"That and I could still feel the sprain this morning sir," Dr Fraiser interrupted. "From what we know of Goa'uld rates of healing, that ankle should have been fine by then, but I'd be willing to swear that Colonel O'Neill – or whoever this is – had a sprain less than an hour ago. If it was going to heal quickly, it would have done so before that trip through the 'Gate."

"Yes," the General agreed. "And it would be strange for a Gould to turn up at the SGC and do nothing for over day, especially considering SG1's little outing to the surface last night."

"It is possible that this person seeks the address for the Alpha site, General, or is gathering some other form of intelligence for the Goa'uld or another alien race," Teal'c suggested.

"True, but your current assignment wasn't even on the cards until a couple of days ago. It also doesn't explain how they switched the real Jack O'Neill with this one." General Hammond sighed heavily. "I don't suppose you've taken a scan of the Colonel's brain waves in the last day, have you Doctor? Or a scan for parasites?"

"I'm afraid not, General – but we do have scans from less than a fortnight ago on file. We'd have to bring him back to the SGC though, the Alpha site doesn't have that equipment yet."

"We are also unaware of how long this intruder has been within our midst," the former First Prime pointed out. "He may have replaced the real ColonelO'Neill while on Earth, or on Hemuset's world."

"But why would he bring attention to himself now, and in such an obvious manner?" Dr Fraiser argued. "It's not like he was stealing anything at the time, nor firing on anyone." She hesitated a moment. "Did you say that he claims to have no memory of the last day and a half on Earth, Teal'c?"

"That is correct." The Jaffa paused. "I must also admit that I have felt that O'Neill was not as… sarcastic… as usual over the last day, however I had believed this to be a side effect of his injury. Many warriors become depressed when they are _kek_ – crippled – even when the disability is temporary."

"And he's being more sarcastic now?" The doctor pressed.

"Indeed."

"Then this could be the real Colonel O'Neill – and whoever replaced him was the one with the sprained ankle…" Dr Fraiser's voice trailed off. "It does sound a little unlikely though. Sitting in a wheelchair and watching Star Wars isn't exactly what aliens visit Earth for. Either way this might have something to do with Daniel's mysterious visitor though."

"Hmm… well whatever has happened, we need to get to the bottom of it," General Hammond concluded. "You say that Col-… this man is currently being guarded and undergoing medical tests, Teal'c?"

"Yes, General Hammond."

"Very well, please ask Dr Raste to contact Dr Fraiser and myself as soon as those tests are finished. Dr Fraiser, I'd like you to have a word with Dr Jackson regarding SG1's visit to Hemuset's world and also his thoughts on the Colonel's recent behaviour. Captain Carter is due in my office shortly, so I will question her myself." There was a momentary pause while the General presumably ran through his remaining options. "The intruder will be placed in the holding cell until we decide what to do with him, and Teal'c – I'm afraid that I'm going to need you to continue with your assignment for the moment."

Teal'c paused for only a moment before agreeing. Others were equally or better able to continue this investigation, and the presence of an intruder at the SGC did not change the fact that new recruits required training. "I understand, General. Will you assign another officer to act as observer/examiner?"

"Not exactly, no," the General replied. "Major Pierce has set up CCTV in the forest and all the students will be wearing tracking beacons. He was going to provide yourself and Colonel O'Neill with that data to aid with the training the exercise, so I'll ask him to take on a dual role as observer. He can assist you with scoring, but I leave the final decision of who passes to you."

"I am honoured, General Hammond," Teal'c replied, bowing his head automatically. "We shall endeavour to act fairly."

"I'm sure you will. Speak to you later, Teal'c – SGC out."

The connection broke off and the wormhole vanished, leaving a confused Jaffa in its wake. He turned to see a group of five young people staring at him, and stood up straight. Did they number among his new students?

As he approached, the group stood to attention – although one young man was just a little more hesitant than his peers. A troublemaker, or worse, anti-Jaffa?

"Mr Teal'c, sir!" Another belted out – the highest ranking by the look of it, the remaining four being airmen and women – and saluted. The action was not followed by the remainder of the group.

Teal'c turned a stern face toward them, of the variety used by Bra'tac when neither pleased nor displeased. "At ease, Lieutenant – I am not a member of the Tau'ri military, however the title of 'sir' will be appropriate today. Why are you not preparing for the training exercise?"

"Erm, we were told to expect you by 0815… and since it's nearly 0845 we thought we'd –"

"Disobey your superiors and have a look around this top secret encampment?" Teal'c finished sharply. "Such conduct is not becoming of an officer, Lieutenant, however little experience you might have."

"Sir!" The young man flushed red at the slight, but did not protest as such.

Good, Teal'c thought. "Lieutenant, I have encountered unexpected business that has delayed our schedule, however we will begin shortly. You will all report back to the training arena and you, Lieutenant, will lead the entire group in stretching exercises."

The slack airman who had been so slow to acknowledge the Jaffa's presence earlier snorted. At least one other airman looked as though she was stifling a giggle.

"Do you have something to say, Airman?" Teal'c growled, facing the young man directly, their faces now mere inches apart. This… _child_… would need to learn manners if he was to succeed as a member of the SGC – let alone today.

"Uh, no sir – nothing." The words sounded nervous, but the boy's laughing eyes belied his tone.

Teal'c clasped his hands behind his back and marched along the short line, inspecting these recruits. They did not appear bad in the first instance, however if this one airman's unruly antics were copied by others – and it already appeared that some of his peers found him… funny… – then Teal'c's job would be that much harder. The big Jaffa stopped pacing and drew himself up to his full height, knowing that the combination of sheer physical presence and a dominating personality should impress the importance of his words upon all but the most idiotic of beings.

"You may convey to the other recruits that you will all be assessed in a running exercise this morning, with obstacles and several distractions. There will be further strategic training following this, then a live fire exercise in the afternoon – all personnel will wear Kevlar armour, and you will all be carrying MP5s loaded with rubber bullets. _I_ will be your sole opponent, carrying a zat'n'ktel."

Teal'c paused for effect, glaring at the ill-mannered airman who looked half-way to crying 'no fair!'. When no such comment was made – though conflicting emotions were evident on the young man's face – he continued.

"This afternoon's portion of the training will be a pass/fail exercise. Among other penalties, being hit by the zat'n'ktel once will stun you and twice will mean almost certain failure. Either will be a painful experience, not merely a simulation. The SGC needs soldiers, not timewasters, and those who do not meet the required standard will find it hard to gain a place on guard duty, let alone as a member of one of the SG teams. _Is that understood?!"_

"Sir, yes, sir!" The five cried out.

He passed his eyes over them all one last time, in the hope that all would see the logic of imparting his seriousness to the rest of the recruits. "Move out."

Teal'c's eyes followed the group as they quick-marched back to the central training area, then decided to speak with Major Pierce before heading to the medical centre. If the recruits were confused by the delay, it was likely that the Major was also – particularly since General Hammond had left it up to him to contact the man directly.

"MajorPierce!" He hailed as he entered the signals tent. "I greet you."

"Teal'c, welcome back to the Alpha site," the Major met him with a handshake. "It's obvious that something's going on, but the Marine Lt Johnson sent me wasn't exactly forthcoming on details – would you mind filling me in?"

As Major Pierce was the current commanding officer of the Alpha site, Teal'c obliged by passing on all relevant information. It was necessary that he knew of the potential security risk within his jurisdiction, particularly since General Hammond had not yet indicated whether "Colonel O'Neill" was to be removed to the SGC's own holding cells. The man's face became longer as he absorbed the news, and when Teal'c was done he sat down heavily.

"Well of all the things… You get used to the unexpected here – hell, I still get a shock when I see two moons in the sky – but Colonel O'Neill under guard has to be one of the weirdest so far. I really hope this works out… somehow."

"As do I, MajorPierce," Teal'c agreed. "However GeneralHammond's orders are clear. Will you be able to assist me in the manner that he has requested?"

"Of course – like he said, I was meant to be monitoring the camera feeds anyway, and I can shuffle some other work into next week if need be." Pierce chuckled, then sighed. "O'Neill and I have similar feelings about paperwork, though if this place gets any bigger I'll be swamped with it."

Teal'c bowed his head, empathising. While it was not yet clear what had happened to Colonel O'Neill, it was likely that the SGC's enemies were somehow behind it – and none of them were particularly kind toward captive Tau'ri.

"Will you use the observation post, as O'Neill had planned?" he asked.

"No, I wouldn't have thought so," Major Pierce shook his head. "I'll need to flick around the CCTV network and monitor the tracking beacons in case some of them are faulty. I'd rather find that out this morning than later on when we'll really need them. Normally I'd leave all that to Senior Airman Bosworth here, but with the current situation I'd rather patch calls between the doctor and General Hammond myself – I can also take down orders for our next move if necessary. He's had field experience himself, so Bosworth can keep an eye on things as Colonel O'Neill would have done. You can't be everywhere at once, and some of those kids need a wake-up call."

Teal'c nodded his assent. "I agree – I have already met a young Airman named Petro–"

"Petrovich," Major Pierce completed the sentence. "Yeh, we'll have to watch out for him – he thinks he's God's gift."

"God's gift?"

"He thinks very highly of himself," Pierce explained. "Likes the sound of his own voice and seems to believe he's funny. Personally I think he's played one too many computer games – he aces every simulation, but has yet to prove that he can actually shoot straight with a real weapon."

Teal'c frowned. These computer games seemed to be a big problem. "He shall have his chance this afternoon."

"Gotcha," Major Pierce nodded. "So I guess you'd like me to look in on the nuggets while you say bye-bye to our mystery guest?"

The Jaffa raised an eyebrow at Major Pierce's choice of words, but bowed his assent. "I shall not be long."

The pair of them walked out of the tent and parted company, Pierce slapping Teal'c on the back with a wink before jogging toward the training area. Teal'c reflected on the fact that despite not knowing him very well, Major Pierce was as open toward him as he was all individuals – at least until he was crossed, at which point he might bear a grudge for several years. Teal'c found this odd, but not unlike certain Jaffa with whom he had served. He also decided that it was better to stay on Major Pierce's good side, as his amicable nature meant that he was friends with most SGC personnel – and there were already too many who still distrusted Teal'c for his origins.

Teal'c made his way to the Alpha site's medical centre (and sole permanent structure), nodding to the two Marines on duty as he entered, and noting the presence of four others closer to the tree line. Inside he realised that the already small facility was now crowded, at least in part, with Dr Raste and two nurses working hurriedly while two Marines lounged upon a pair of gurneys.

Lt. Johnson jumped off his seat and rushed to salute the Jaffa. "Sir, tests are nearly finished as requested and the suspect remains under guard. How should we proceed?"

"Yeh, what's next T?" came the wry voice of the supposed Colonel Jack O'Neill. "A trip on the ferris wheel to see if I still barf the same way?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "You are to place this man in the holding cell and maintain a suitable watch. Further orders will be coming from GeneralHammond via MajorPierce."

"Sir!"

Teal'c nodded and made his way closer to Dr Raste and her patient, bowing slightly as he introduced himself. "I do not believe we have met, doctor. I am Teal'c."

"Yeh, it means 'strength'. See, I knew that…" 'O'Neill' muttered.

"Meghna Raste –" the doctor raised her hands. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of all this so forgive me for not shaking hands or saluting. Interesting patient you've brought me here."

"Indeed," Teal'c smiled slightly. "Are the tests progressing well?"

"They are," she affirmed, grabbing an alcohol wipe and unwrapping a sterile needle. "Apart from his knees, this man is in surprisingly good health for his age. In fact, after I've taken one more blood sample you can get him out of my way."

"Why are all female doctors obsessed with jabbing me full of needles, goddamnit!"

"Probably because you enjoy it so much," Dr Raste retorted, completing her work with a relieved sigh. "There's no sign of an ankle injury, by the way."

"Lt. Johnson?" Teal'c called.

"Ready and waiting sir, the men are lined to accompany this gentleman to his new home," the Marine reported.

"Yay me…" their captive commented, clearly not impressed. "Y'know, I can see why some aliens see us as unfriendly. Where's the red carpet, the cheerful bedside manner?"

Teal'c frowned, filing his observations for later review. This man did appear extremely similar to the O'Neill he knew, however the unusual nature of his ankle's recovery was now certain. At some point, O'Neill had been replaced by an apparently seamless copy – and it was not yet clear whether this man was the clone or the original.

"Who are you and what is your mission?" He addressed the prisoner, unwilling to name him O'Neill.

"T, I already told you – I don't know! And my current mission to get as far away from from Dr Raste and her precious tests! But yes, I do know the protocol so I will _try_ to sit this out until someone figures out what's happened. _Which_ I'm sure will involve even more poking and prodding and other supposedly healthy forms of torture…" the man finished in a resigned tone, then glared at Teal'c. "I just want to know how that bastard replaced me so easily, and why you guys were taken in!"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I too wish to know how Colonel O'Neill was replaced."

"Yeh, but you still think I'm the copy," the captive asserted derisively. "Come back when you believe me T, because until then we don't have much to talk about."

As the Marines led their prisoner away, Teal'c glanced in their direction and quashed his uneasy thoughts. He passed on Dr Raste's orders to contact Dr Fraiser as soon as her report was complete, then jogged over to his recruits, praying all the while that this technology to mimic others so precisely did not truly exist, for if it did… it would be an extremely dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. And why did he feel like he was missing something?


	26. Camouflage

Disclaimer: Compared to the creators of Stargate and Quantum Leap, I am a blithering idiot.

Reviewers: Thank you all!!! You are lovely wonderful people who deserve fantastic Christmas pressies!! Hear that, Santa?? Also, please bear with me over the next few days – hubby and I should finally pick up the keys to our first home today (YAY!!!), the first home we've owned anyway (ok so the bank owns most of it… but I don't care cos it's OURS), so the run-up to Xmas/NYr will be taken up with the rapid unpacking of boxes and installation of furniture and… and… BROADBAND!! Plus we'll have room to set up both computers – no more fighting over who gets to play. I cannot wait.

A/N: I've just realised that Teal'c raised an eyebrow **five** times in the last chapter. I know he does tend to do that a lot, but apologise if he was a little too Spock-like! And re Dr Raste, she's actually based on a friend of mine :)

The treat of the day is some lovely crumpets toasted on a real fire, with butter and honey on top – just don't let them burn! And to weird people who think that crumpets should be eaten for breakfast, try having them at 4-5pm with a nice mug of tea. Much better.

**September 21st, 1998 – SGC**

**Sam Beckett's POV**

Sam glanced down at 'his' name patch to make sure. JACKSON. In large embroidered capitals. It was true. A chuckle of mixed emotions escaped him: frustration that his expectations for the day had been severed so cruelly, relief that he was not going to be cut off from his friends, anger against this apparently insurmountable barrier that he so desperately wanted to breach, and joy that despite this setback he was still within the Stargate program. But even as he struggled with these conflicting thoughts, something inside him had already acknowledged that travel to other stars obviously was not to be. Not for him. Whatever it was that made him Leap around in time, it clearly had no intention of letting him loose on another planet.

The next question though, was why he was here. And when?

Hurriedly, Sam grabbed the computer's mouse and jiggled it a little. Daniel might have an automatic lockout after a certain length of inactivity, and Sam had had enough trouble finding out what was going on without cutting himself off from this godsent source of information. Sure he still wouldn't be able to access the more secure parts of the network, but anything was better than nothing. Sam squinted at the screen and noted the time with a shock – 08:04 – then made the mouse hover over the clock until the date popped up. 21 September 1998. He had made a straight swap, from one Leapee to another instantaneously – or as close as he could tell without checking with Al.

Al. Being within the SGC meant that he still wouldn't be able to speak with Al easily, though he would be able to see him. Ironically, an invisible Al he could deal with if it meant that he could still hear his old friend – but at least he knew they were working on it. He wondered how they were getting on with Daniel… he was a nice guy, a lot nicer than Jack sounded – though of course he'd never met the Colonel… yet.

Oh boy. If he, Sam, was now Daniel… that meant that Jack was Jack again. He would be on the Alpha site, and he would probably be Swiss-cheesed. And minus a sprained ankle.

Sam flexed his ankle tentatively, futilely, knowing that – yes – it was still sprained. Damn. Sprained, unstrapped, and without crutches or wheelchair. Here he was, looking like Daniel but with Jack's injury! It would be plain as day if he tried standing up, let alone walking – and there was no way he'd be able to sit in this office forever. How would he explain this to Carter, or Dr Fraiser, or General Hammond? That he fell off a stool and happened to recreate the Colonel's sprain exactly? Unlikely.

This put a new spin on things. He'd never been around to watch people pick up the pieces after he'd fixed things and Leaped out, let alone helped them pick up pieces in another guise. Plus by the look of it the only reason he'd Leaped out was because of the Stargate – was Jack's life still in danger? And what about Jack himself? Chances were he'd already made it clear that he didn't need a wheelchair. Maybe he'd been taken into custody. Maybe he remembered everything. Maybe he remembered nothing.

Leaning back in Daniel's chair, Sam sighed. He felt bad about this, though it wasn't like he could change it. If Jack had clearly revealed to his friends and colleagues at the Alpha site that he wasn't himself… or himself as they knew him when he left the SGC a few minutes ago… they would turn on him in suspicion. It was that kind of place – hell, he himself was lucky to be walking around still. But how would that make Jack feel? Rejected? Depressed? Angry? All of them and more, no doubt. There'd be little chance of muddling out of this one, as most Leapees tended to, and if the SGC found out the truth they'd certainly come looking for their pound of flesh.

And then there was Daniel. Sam chuckled – he was probably a blessing in disguise for the rest of the Project team, a lot more open-minded than Jack sounded… though Al would probably miss him. Would either of them ever remember their time at Project Quantum Leap? The diaries that Ziggy had been able to access suggested that Leapees' memories were normally fuzzy after he'd visited, maybe even modified somehow, but as far as _his_ Swiss-cheesed memory could remember this was the first time a Leap had stepped sideways. There was no telling what effect that would have on its progress, let alone Sam and the Leapees. Certainly the man whose life he was apparently trying to save was now a lot further away than he could realistically imagine, so how was he supposed to complete this mission?

Things were not looking good.

Sam decided to take a look around the room to take his mind off things. He was lucky that he'd Leaped into Daniel when the man was sitting down – otherwise he'd probably be writhing in pain on the floor. With that thought in mind, he confined himself to spinning around in Daniel's computer chair as he scrutinised the bookshelves. The archaeologist had probably been checking all his things after finally being allowed back into his office, and after the comparing the current state of affairs with the images in his photographic memory, Sam had to conclude that the Marines had made a very clean sweep of the place. Even books that had been lying on the floor were in the same place, as were all of Daniel's precious artefacts.

But speaking of the Marines, what were they up to now? How far had they gotten with their investigation? Sam shuddered to think. All he wanted to do was to do what he had to do and get out of here, whether or not he could get through the Stargate. Being found out was not part of the job description – not that he'd ever received the memo on this position in the first place – and after the last day he knew that the SGC didn't exactly take kindly to strangers. If only he'd actually _thought_ when he binned that piece of paper.

"Ok, hotshot… how are you going to get out of this one?" he muttered to himself. All that IQ had to be of some use to him, surely?

Step 1. Camouflage! Act like Daniel.

Step 2. No more fingerprints, writing or other identifying marks.

Step 3. Well… that might have to wait a while, because step 3 was getting out of here and he couldn't do that without saving Jack. Better stick to 1 & 2 for now, Sam decided.

Actually, he didn't think that 'being' Daniel would be too much of a stretch – after all he did already know the guy… kinda… and they shared a lot of interests. Ancient languages, archaeology, getting caught up in situations that were a little awkward to get out of… Hmm. Not leaving any marks might be harder – it wasn't like he could hang around wearing latex gloves without anyone noticing – but he could work on covering his hand with his sleeve when opening doors etc… Not that he'd move any sooner than he had too, otherwise his limp would be far too obvious.

Sighing, Sam's mind moved onto actually getting on with the job of being Daniel – after all there was no time like the present, especially since he was all alone right now.

Acting like Daniel would involve doing Daniel's job, and since Sam already knew that Daniel was working on a few translations he figured that this maybe that would be a good place to start. That and the photos he'd noticed yesterday were still on Dr Jackson's desk, those odd 'cunei-runes' that made the idea of cross-pollinated cultures from outer space that little bit more real. Looking back at the computer's desktop though, Sam realised that another image was on the screen – one he hadn't seen before. In fact it looked more like Egyptian hieroglyphics, but they were formed a little differently and the grammar was definitely unfamiliar… This had to be the inscription on Carter's 'popcorn' machine, the one that Daniel had said looked like a really old dialect of Goa'uld. It certainly wasn't anything that he could translate though, however similar the symbols.

Suddenly Sam shivered. All that time that he'd been studying hieroglyphics, he'd been reading the alphabet of the same parasitic aliens that most of this galaxy fought against. The fact that the people of Earth knew nothing about this was a testament to the rebellion that had pushed the Goa'uld off this planet millennia ago – and to the fact that innumerable worlds had already been populated with enough slaves and potential hosts to satisfy the aliens' need. All his life he'd looked up to the pyramid-builders, believing them to be geniuses – but they'd been using advanced technology all along, producing their designs and equations via computers rather than by mental ability and basic trigonometry. He'd even Leaped into an Egyptologist and almost let that interest take over his job of saving two lives. But it had all been a lie.

Then he smiled. It wasn't just a lie, it was a wrong. A wrong that the SGC was trying to put right.

Having found his focus, Samuel Beckett (owner of 6 doctorates, 1 Master's degree and a Nobel Prize) commenced the first piece of real research he'd done in years – Leaping hadn't exactly left him with much leisure time. He started off by calling up what he remembered of Daniel's initial translation in the Briefing Room yesterday: 'Bear this token behind the Stargate to ensure quick return and continued future'. He grimaced – it did sound like a fortune cookie – but since he couldn't identify a starting point himself, this would have to do… At least Daniel had left a host of relevant books and even a half-written Goa'uld phrasebook to help him.

Some time later – he wasn't too sure how long – there was a knock at the door. A very loud knock.

"Daniel? Are you in there?"

A name filtered through the rapid buzzing of his mind: Dr Fraiser. For a moment he sat still, the very image of a stunned mullet, then the buzzing recommenced. What was she doing here? Had they found something? Did they know about him? Where was the exit?

STOP PANICKING! Sam shut himself up with a mental yell. He'd forgotten just how hyperactive his brain could get when immersed in some form of all-consuming study, and how hard it could be to pull back and re-enter normality. Energised neurons were great when trying to solve a puzzle, but they just made emotions run haywire.

"Yeh, I'm here – come in!" He forced himself to reply, knowing that pretence would only get him into trouble.

The door opened and the short-statured doctor peeked in. "Am I disturbing you? I was knocking for ages!"

"Uh, yes – I mean no, I needed a break any way," Sam answered weakly. It had been a long time, but he seemed to have dropped back into absent-minded scientist mode without a hitch. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. I hope I haven't offended you."

Dr Fraiser smiled forgivingly. "Not at all – I know you well enough by now. Having visitors in here must be like having Colonel O'Neill in the infirmary for me!"

Sam couldn't help laughing, particularly given the fact that he had been Jack in the infirmary for the last day or so. "You win!"

"I always win," she replied, a sly grin on her face. "I brought coffee by the way."

"You did?" Sam was taken aback. He knew that SG1 were close, but he'd always thought that military doctors – especially in combat situations – tried not to get too close to their patients. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe it was just Daniel that she was friendly with. "Thank you, doctor!"

"Not at all, _doctor_," Dr Fraiser replied, looking him in the eye as she placed a mug before him and sat down on the opposite side of the desk. "When did you get so formal?"

Oops. "Er, formal? Me? Nah… just being polite."

"Uh huh?" She pursed her lips. "Well, just remember that this is a special treat – I don't normally recommend caffeine so early in the morning, especially not to junkies like you."

Junkie? Oh yeh, he remembered Daniel saying something about his caffeine addiction yesterday. Phew! For a moment then he thought there might have been a substance abuse problem… Now what was her first name again? He couldn't keep calling her Dr Fraiser, that much was clear. Come on, Beckett – think!

"Then the gift is very much appreciated, Janet," he replied, inwardly crossing his fingers. When no negative response came he continued. "Now, how can I help you?"

"What's makes you think I came here for help?!"

"You brought coffee," Sam reminded her, getting into the swing of things now. "That has to mean something."

Janet sighed, looking down at her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were worried. "There seems to be a problem at the Alpha site."

Sam schooled his face very, _very_ carefully. He blinked a couple of times. "What kind of problem?"

"Colonel O'Neill… well… Teal'c reported that he just stood up out of the wheelchair and started walking."

Oh crap. It makes sense, but still. Does he remember anything? That's the important part.

"How far did he get?" Sam offered feebly, hoping that a wisecrack might give him time to regroup. It might even provoke a reaction and give him more information.

Janet had other ideas, and she glared like the redhead she was to prove it, slapping the desk in emphasis. "This isn't funny Daniel. There's a possibility that Colonel O'Neill was kidnapped back on P3X-970, or maybe just this morning, and what we have at the Alpha site is a replacement of some kind. God only knows who has him, let alone what they want from him – or us."

The doctor's voice was so highly strung that Sam wondered how close her relationship with Daniel actually was. He'd picked up enough conversation over the last day to gather that Dr Jackson was the most accident prone member of SG1, so he must spend a good deal of time in the infirmary, but Dr Fraiser's openness with her emotions suggested a strong friendship at the very least. Then again, he'd even heard gossip that Cpt. Carter and Col. O'Neill were secretly in love, which made him figure that all this speculation came from the same source as the rumour mill of his hometown of Elk Ridge, Indiana: people's imaginations.

Sam reached his hands across the desk and clasped hers, wanting to comfort her but feeling like a hypocrite. He was the cause of all this trouble after all… and now he was going to _use_ her to help stay in the clear. "Calm down, Janet – come on. Now just tell me what's going on, please?"

He was rewarded with a grateful smile, but felt dirty all the same. I can't do this, he thought to himself, these are good people – I don't want to lie to them… but if I tell the truth…

"Penny for them?" Janet interrupted his thoughts gently. "I know, you're hoping he's all right too. I don't blame you, he is your closest friend after all."

"Um, yeh…" Sam faltered. He released her hand as a fresh wave of guilt kicked in. "Does Captain Carter know?"

"She should do by now," the small doctor replied after a glance at the clock. "General Hammond was going to brief her during their meeting. I take it that's the inscription on her machine you're looking at?"

"Yeh – I'm trying the back-to-basics approach. Imagining that I don't know any Goa'uld at all and starting from scratch. Dictionaries, thesauruses, any reference source that a newbie would look at, all preconceptions out the window," he explained, grateful for the change of subject but certain that this would not be the end of it.

Janet chuckled softly. "That's got to be difficult for a polyglot like you – turning off all those languages. How many is it now? 22? 23?"

Sam tried hard not to blink in shock. How many?! And were they Earth or alien languages?

"Uh… something like that," he murmured. "I'm… er… managing."

"Is it working?"

"Too soon to tell."

"Mmm."

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Sam felt himself growing worried again – was this the calm before the storm? Was Janet just biding time before the remainder of SG1 battered the door down and came to get him?

He took a sip of coffee and decided that he had to find out more. "So what does Jack… I mean, the person at the Alpha site… have to say about all this?"

Janet sighed heavily. "Well, I haven't spoken to him myself but Teal'c says he reacted just how you'd expect the Colonel to react. Sarcastic as ever, more so than he has been the last couple of days in fact, but completely unable to explain how his ankle healed so miraculously in under half an hour."

"He's undergone tests then?" Sam queried. If so, they'd eventually come to the conclusion that he was either an exact copy of Jack… or Jack himself.

"Undergoing," the doctor confirmed. "Dr Raste at the Alpha site is doing all she can with the equipment they have, though that doesn't include an MRI. She's going to report back to me when she's had time to analyse the results, but I'll probably have to go there myself to compare them against our records. Between his catalogue of scars and old injuries, not to mention his DNA, we should be able to make a decent assessment."

Uh-oh. "And will you be bringing him back here?"

"Him… or it." The revulsion in Janet's voice was unreserved. "I suppose we will eventually, but we don't know how much of a security risk he is yet. I've already recommended to General Hammond that Dr Mackenzie takes part in this investigation though, since he claims to have no memory of the last couple of days. Nothing since being chased by Hemuset's Jaffa."

Bingo. Sam's relief was too obvious to contain, and he frantically tried to cover up his strange reaction by shaking his head rapidly and pretending to be overcome. "Uh, wow. I mean… that's just weird."

"I agree – that's why I want Dr Mackenzie to join in. We might need him to run a lie detector test eventually, if we can find one that Colonel O'Neill hasn't been trained to resist. And even if we do there's no telling whether it would have the same impact on this alien."

"He's likely to be human though, isn't he?"

"Yes – the similarities could come from plastic surgery, or he could be a clone for all we know." Janet snorted softly. "When Teal'c said he'd lost his memory, I wondered whether the replacement had already been and gone. Can you believe that?"

Sam's eyes widened, but not for the reason Janet obviously thought.

"I know, it was stupid –"

"No, no! That's not at all stupid!" Sam cut her off. This one was smart, and it struck him that eventually – not now, but maybe later when she'd had time to confirm all her results – he might be able to prod her in that direction again. If Jack seemed to be incontrovertibly Jack, they might let him go… and might even stop looking for the mystery intruder. "Remember what Sherlock Holmes used to say?"

"Something about the least likely theory being right if you could disprove all others?"

"Gold star to the nice lady in the chair," he beamed.

"Ha ha," Janet mocked him. "Unfortunately I've seen far too many things during my time here to be so optimistic, and if that is the case then we still need to find out what went on during the last day or so. He could even be your unidentified guest, you do realise that don't you Daniel? The Marines are sending someone over to take his fingerprints already, but if _that_ person is already gone, what did he take with him? And how did he get here in the first place?"

"Uh… you're right," Sam admitted. It had been too much to hope for, even a desperate man like him should have realised that. "But don't go… uh… doing anything nasty to the guy at the Alpha site, ok?"

Janet leaned across the desk, her expression bordering on dangerous. "I'm a doctor, not a torturer." A small smile flitted across her lips. "No matter what Jack says."

The pair shared an uncomfortable laugh.

"So, did you notice anything different about Jack when you got back from P3X-970?" Janet probed, sticking to the subject that Sam would prefer to avoid. "You guys all went out last night didn't you – how was that?"

Some question, Sam thought – I _was_ Jack for that whole period!

"Other than the fact that he was in a wheelchair?" he quipped.

"Of course…" Janet rolled her eyes.

"Well I suppose he was a little quiet," Sam answered truthfully. "But I think we all put that down to his injury – I mean a guy like Jack…"

"… hates being weak or needy?"

"That's the one. He could barely get into his house without a hand from Teal'c, and he was in a wheelchair this morning too."

Also the truth, though Sam couldn't help but think that he was digging his own grave – or was it Jack's?

"And that's the reason why we need to find out what's happened," Janet finished up. "According to Teal'c this guy isn't even limping, let alone in need of crutches."

Sam winced involuntarily as his own sprained ankle, the one that everyone thought had vanished into thin air, reminded him of its continued existence.

"Are you ok?"

He looked up to find the doctor's compassionate gaze meeting his own.

"Uh… yeh… just wishing I knew what was going on…" Like how am I going to get away with this! "It'll work out in the end, won't it?"

"Always does!" Janet gave a dramatic flourish before lapsing back into dry laughter. "Most of the time anyway. Hey, have you heard anything back from Major Castleman yet?"

"No, nothing," Sam shook his head – hoping that the real Daniel had not, and since they'd be investigating Jack at the Alpha site it seemed like a reasonable assumption. "I've decided to stop bugging them."

"Hmm… well they've returned Dr Tammuz back to her normal duties anyway, she was analysing their blood samples. Chances are they're just waiting for the ID database to pop out a few names now."

"Yeh…" he mumbled, none too keen on the results of that search – especially if he was still here when they came in.

"Did you find anything missing in the end? I guess not, otherwise you'd be raising hell by now," Janet teased.

Sam smiled. That wasn't likely, not when he was the culprit – though if Daniel had been here she would probably be right. "It's all here, even my fruit and nut mix."

"You still have that?" She laughed. "Maybe I will convert you away from coffee some day after all."

"No chance."

"You never know – I can be very persuasive…" Janet rose from her chair, smiling a little more than she had been when she sat down. "Anyway, I'd better get back to my post. Dr Raste will be calling in shortly, and I need to prepare for my visit off world. Why is it that I only get a chance to sightsee when there's some form of medical emergency?"

"Because you're obviously too valuable to risk losing," Sam observed, smirking at her embarrassment. "Good luck."

She bowed a little, Teal'c style. "Thank you."

As the door closed, Sam whistled through his teeth and leaned back in Daniel's chair, stretching as far as he could without falling over. Mentally he felt like he'd jump out of the frying pan and landed in the proverbial fire, though he was still in one piece and for that he had to be thankful. He felt sure that Jack would be freed sooner or later, but he was beginning to realise that the SGC wouldn't give up their hunt for him until the trail ran completely dry – which wouldn't happen until he left altogether. Maybe not even then, given the ample data he'd already given them the day before… And it wasn't like he could talk to all until he reached the surface – if he ever did so again.

Suddenly Sam felt sickened at his own self-pity. He was here to do a job. Granted it wasn't an easy job, but there was no point in wallowing. Sure he couldn't talk to Al, but then he was so close to the present that his friend could only offer support – and the people here were so well intentioned that he felt their encouragement as much as their fervour scared him!

He turned back to the mysterious lettering on his computer screen. Until he could find a way to brave the world outside without giving himself away, this was his new project. It was important to the SGC, and since they were going to so much trouble to find him… well, it was the least he could do in return. Maybe they'd even thank him one day.


	27. Out of Place

Disclaimer: Anyone ever seen me at some glitzy sci-fi awards ceremony? No? I guess that means I've never created a TV series, nor made any money out of borrowing concepts then :)

A/N: well lookie here, I finally got off my bum and updated! Took months, but I made it in the end! I blame a combination of intense laziness and rabid plot bunnies (see new story uploaded) … mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

* * *

**September 26th, 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Daniel's POV**

"Ungggh…"

Daniel moaned, rubbing his temples as if kneading dough. He didn't have a headache, but he didn't have his glasses and everything was a little fuzzy. After everything he'd been through in the last few years he still couldn't shake the feeling that this was one of the weirdest experiences of his life. Maybe some unscrupulous person had slipped LSD into the coffee machine… though he'd never even tried marijuana in college (his allergies had made sure of that), so it wasn't like he'd recognise a drug-induced hallucination if it punched him in the arm. Then again he did hope that he'd recognise Hathor's über-pheromone if she dropped by again.

"I'm sorry, Dr Jackson – I know this is hard for you," the woman across the table apologised. "Disorientation is common among our subjects, and unfortunately we have no way of preparing you in advance."

"That's an understatement," the archaeologist mumbled, pinching the fabric of his 'new' clothes and realising that it was a lycra catsuit. "Eighties aerobics live again, eh?"

There was a twinge of laughter in the woman's voice as she replied, "Excuse me?"

"Never... uh... never mind." Daniel smiled briefly, then pursed his lips and screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to think away from the weirdness and concentrate on understanding what was going on. "So let me get this straight. I have been caught up in a top secret science project run by the US Navy, is that it?"

"Yes."

"But you can't tell me the details?"

"Precisely."

"Is there anyone who can?" He probed nervously, wondering how many wacky ideas the government had funded over the years. "Someone in charge?"

"That would be Admiral Calavicci, who you met earlier," was the apologetic reply. "I'm sure he'll be in shortly, but... uh... your arrival caught us unprepared."

"Oh." You and me both, Daniel added silently. "And you don't know where my glasses are either?"

"I'm afraid not."

Dr Beeks, as she'd introduced herself, seemed like a nice person. No matter how hard Jack tried, Daniel was damned if he was going to suspect every person he met and examine every situation for its strategic potential. She was clearly a psychiatrist - very professional, and less flustered than Dr Mackenzie was on his occasional visits to the SGC. He was sure that she knew all about where he was and what he was doing there, but less about himself than Admiral Calavicci – who had vanished for the moment. Then again, that Admiral had dropped a few very unsubtle hints about things that no one in the Navy should know other than its Joint Chief, so he was going to have engage his brain before opening his mouth. And there was the small matter that he had no idea about where he was, nor whether any of his friends were here too. Had he been kidnapped by the naval psychiatric branch of the NID – or something equally kooky?

Her voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "I can understand your anxiety and confusion, Dr Jackson."

Daniel didn't even try to contain his snort of laughter. "Can you? Have you ever suddenly woken up on a slab in a lycra catsuit?"

"Fair point," she smiled, her tone relaxed. "No, I haven't – but then I only work here part time."

"And where is here?" It was worth a try.

Dr Beeks regarded him for a moment. "Here is New Mexico."

"Heh. Nice, specific answer," Daniel commented irritably. "How about telling me 'what' here is then?"

The woman's expression became wry. "I'm afraid I'm not permitted to tell you that just yet."

"I do have a pretty high security clearance," he needled, not expecting much.

"We know!" A male voice answered from the door. Admiral Calavicci had returned, and he was looking a little harassed. "Sorry, uh… I brought us some coffee."

Daniel nodded, wary but appreciative. He'd seen and heard enough since his 'arrival' to believe that he was on Earth – certain idioms, mannerisms and clothing wouldn't fit in on any of the other planets he'd visited – but food and drink was a good way to poison or sedate a captive. Thinking about the chamber he was in though, they could have just as easily left him alone and gassed him. Not just that, but accepting the gift of caffeine might be the first step to getting out of here.

"Thanks," he smiled, taking the mug in his hands and sniffing the aroma. "Uh, so I guess you have a lot of scientists around here, huh?"

Both Dr Beeks and the Admiral seemed surprised by his comment, sharing an alarmed look.

"What makes you say that Dr Jackson?" the woman replied. "And please call me Verbeena."

"Interesting name... I'm Daniel," he smiled briefly, then sipped his drink. "Ah, well it's just that the coffee's really good and from my experience that seems to be proportionate to the number of scientists in a place. You know – faculties would allocate half their annual budget to a barista if it'd mean great coffee all year, but the military would rather you just eat the blue jello?"

Verbeena laughed out loud. "I think you've hit the nail on the head there, Daniel!"

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her unguarded response, but realising that he'd accidentally gotten confirmation that this really was a research installation – probably more so than the SGC. Please let this not be an NID trick, he mumbled inwardly.

"That's... good… to hear. Look, do you have anything more comfortable that I could wear?" More comfortable, less itchy – anything!

"That can be arranged," the Admiral answered, grinning for some reason. "Our, uh, last visitor asked exactly the same thing. Ziggy?"

Daniel jumped in surprise as a disembodied voice replied – a very feminine voice, but unexpected all the same.

"I will have alternative clothing placed in the shower room immediately Admiral."

Admiral Calavicci turned back to Daniel, his expression hesitant, then indicated a door opposite the entrance he'd used himself. "Why don't you can go ahead and change, Daniel, then we can, uh, talk about what's happened here."

Not wanting to argue while his potential captors were in such an easygoing mood, Daniel simply shrugged and did as suggested. He could hear muffled voices through the door while he changed, but nothing clear enough to understand. He almost considered having a shower, but something in the back of his mind insisted that he'd had one this morning so he settled for washing his face with steaming hot water. That always helped blow out cobwebs, no matter what time it was, and it did the trick now too.

Daniel fumbled to his right for a towel, sure that he remembered seeing one, and began to rub his face dry – then he stopped.

His voice filled with shock and outrage, Daniel burst out of the shower room and confronted the Admiral and Dr Beeks.

"What the hell is going on here!"

Unconsciously, the instincts that Jack, Sam and Teal'c had been trying to instil him with came to the fore. Rightly or wrongly, he wanted answers now.

"Quiet down, Doctor," Admiral Calavicci stated forcefully, his eyes powerful – though Daniel remained aware of the fact that he was a good bit taller than the other man and quite a lot younger. "We can explain everything, I promise, you just need to give us a chance."

"Give you a chance?" Daniel fumed. "What the hell have you done with Jack!"

The Admiral blinked sharply as if mystified, and suddenly he was frowning with apparent confusion. "Uh, Jack?"

It was the wrong thing to say. "Yes, Jack. About the same height as me, short hair, sarcastic – you know exactly who I mean!"

"Well, uh..." Admiral Calavicci mumbled.

"How..." Dr Beeks asked, casting her eyes toward what Daniel knew was an external door.

Suddenly, Daniel's rage deflated and quickly as it had arrived. Oh no, he thought belatedly, top-secret military installation have Marines on them, no matter how many scientists there are.

"Uh... sorry," he sighed, trying to calm down his breathing and the adrenaline rush that encouraged his fight-or-flight response. "I was just so surprised, surprised to see it there. I do still want to know what's going on though," he added forcefully.

Verbeena and the Admiral exchanged a look.

"See what, Daniel?" She asked gently, though he could hear the confusion in her voice.

"The mirror fogged up – it says 'Jack was here'," Daniel commented smugly. "A dead giveaway if ever there was one."

After a rather ominous pause, Admiral Calavicci suddenly creased with laughter – happy laughter, not evil or vindictive as one might expect from a Goa'uld – and it was Daniel's turn to share a look with Verbeena, who shook her head a little and appeared to make a decision.

"I only met your friend for a short time, Daniel," she said slowly, reaching out to touch his arm. "But you have to believe me when I say that he is well. I have something more to show you in the mirror though."

Gently she led him back to the shower room, while the Admiral – about as dignified as Jack was as a Colonel – took a few wheezing gasps behind them. Shaking his head in confusion, Daniel let himself be guided. He was more bewildered than he had been when he arrived, but at least they were still talking to him…

Standing before the mirror now, he saw that the steam was dissipating. He turned to Verbeena with a question in his eyes, and she smiled a little sadly as she grabbed a hand towel and wiped it other the glass. Then he saw it.

"Uh… that's not me…" he mumbled, though the reflection's mouth moved in time with his words. But this _wasn't_ him – it couldn't be – this man didn't look anything like him! He was older for a start, around Jack's age, and his hair was shorter… but then when Daniel brushed a hand through his hair he actually felt his own longer hairstyle! Yet the mirror showed nothing of the sort.

Pushing his way past Dr Beeks, Daniel approached a calmer Admiral Calavicci and folded his arms. "What's going on? Who is that in the mirror? And where is Jack?"

His head cocked to one side, the Admiral fixed him with a pair of beady eyes. "Project Quantum Leap, Dr Samuel Beckett, and the Alpha site – in that order."

"Huh?" Daniel exclaimed, remembering that this guy had mentioned the Asgard earlier. "How do you know about that? And why do I have Dr Beckett's face? What's Project Quantum Leap? Admiral?"

"Call me Al," the little man replied dryly. "And I think we'll give you the tour – that might answer a few questions, and hopefully save us some time too."

An hour or so later, Daniel's need to know had come down to a manageable level. The string theory behind the project had been explained to him, he'd been introduced him to Ziggy, and he'd been given the layman's guide to Leaping. They also showed him some footage of Jack during his visit – and it was definitely Jack, despite the physical differences – generally making his head spin.

"So you think that I'm here now, because your friend Sam couldn't go through the Stargate?" Daniel asked finally, trying to keep the story straight. "That doesn't make sense if he's supposed to be saving Jack's life – although Jack's probably under guard right now if what you're saying is true…"

"Why?" The man called Gooshie asked.

"Well we all thought that Jack was acting a little weird for the last day or so, but we put that down to his injury," Daniel explained. "But if he suddenly got up and started walking, the first thing they'll do is put him under heavy quarantine. They'll think someone's replaced him – but the person who did the replacing is now… 'me'."

Al smiled wryly. "Ironically, he'll probably enjoy being you more than he did Jack – he's got a Masters in Archaeology and a doctorate in Ancient Languages."

"Really?" Daniel was taken aback. "I thought you said he designed and built this project?"

The other man nodded with a grin of pride. "Our boy's a bit of a Renaissance man – his IQ's through the roof." He sighed then. "Not that it's helped much recently – Sam would be the best person to write a retrieval program, but he's the one who needs retrieving!"

"And in the meantime he Leaps around in time fixing things?" Daniel asked, suddenly worried. "Wouldn't that screw up our timeline just a tad?"

"Screw it up?" Al frowned. "Daniel, Ziggy's databanks show that hundreds of lives have been improved because of Sam – maybe even thousands."

"But surely the timeline forks every time that happens, right? The only reason you know about any of this is through Ziggy?" And is this why the 'other' SGC I saw through the quantum mirror was so similar to our own? he added mentally.

"Yes, yes, maybe… but the world's a better place – you have to trust me on that," Al concluded tiredly. "Look, we don't know why it works the way it does, but since the only way Sam seems able to Leap on is to do something good we figure it can't be all that bad. We don't even know who or what picks the Leaps."

"Yeh…" Daniel wondered a loud, a flicker of suspicion crossing his mind. He closed his eyes suddenly, an intense look of concentration on his face as he thought everything through. "Al…?"

"Yes, Daniel," the Admiral answered from the other side of the room.

"You said that when your Dr Beckett, uh, Leaps, he's still in his own body, right?"

Al nodded. "That's right."

"So he's my intruder? The guy who left the note in my office, along with all those fingerprints? The guy my work got turned upside down searching for?" The stress in Daniel's voice increased with each word. "_That's_ your Dr Beckett?"

"I thought you already understood that, Daniel," Al answered, his hands now held up in a near-surrender gesture. "And I'm sorry for whatever trouble that put you through, really I am, but you have to understand that at the time we had no idea where Sam was – any clues were vital!"

Daniel's expression turned hard. "Well now you know, and sooner or later they'll catch onto him – especially once Janet sees that ankle. He'd be better off to turn himself in now."

"You can't ask him to do that!" Tina cried out. "They'll lock him away someplace!"

"Oh right," the archaeologist scoffed as he leant against a table. "And he's really going places with a severely sprained ankle that he can't afford people seeing." He turned to Al, a helpless look on his face. "Al, stranger things have happened at the SGC than this. They'll find out sooner or later, but this way they might trust him a little sooner. I can't guarantee that Jack would listen to any warnings about saving his life, but General Hammond might."

"Jack's already in protective custody though," Al pointed out. "That could be the key to saving his life."

"And if that's the case, why is Sam still at the SGC?" Daniel countered. "He isn't done yet, Al – either that or your mission priorities are all wrong."

"Dr Jackson –" Ziggy's indignant tones rang through the room.

"Might have a point!" Al cut her off, glaring at the ceiling in no particular direction. "I'm not saying your scenarios are wrong, Ziggy – just that maybe we should change our protocol a little on this one."

The Control Room was silent while Daniel and the team awaited Ziggy's inevitable rejoinder.

"What are the dangers to Dr Beckett if he confesses his identity, Dr Jackson?" She asked eventually.

"Ah, well…" Daniel thought hard. What had General Hammond ordered for the last few aliens who'd come through the Stargate? "He'd be checked out medically again, and from what I remember of the initial investigation for our intruder they'd also seek to confirm his identity via the armed forces database… I presume he's on there right, since this is a Navy operation?"

Al nodded quietly. "Yes…"

The archaeologist blew a sigh of relief. "To be honest that should make life easier for him – I mean they'll be able to prove that he's a human from Earth for starters. He'll probably get interrogated by Sam – I mean our Sam, Captain Carter – to test his knowledge of quantum physics –"

The sound of spluttering came from several sources.

"What? What did I say?"

"Sorry, honey, but our Sam's knowledge of quantum physics is going to blow your Sam away," the woman named Tina replied smugly. "He's a certified genius!"

Daniel wobbled his head from side to side, not wanting to sound condescending but wanting to set this woman straight. "Dr Martinez, isn't it? Uh, our Sam is this planet's foremost expert on wormholes of all kinds, as well as a bunch of other phenomena we didn't know about till the Stargate program started up. They'll probably give each other a run for their money –"

"If they don't make friends with a whiteboard and work out a new theory of relativity between them," Al finished with a roll of his eyes. "Are they likely to question him about Project Quantum Leap?"

The archaeologist's raised eyebrows answered that question soon enough. It was a silly thing to ask, after all.

"Ok, so they will – but to be honest he probably won't be able to tell them much," Al laughed shortly. "Maybe the swiss-cheese effect is good for something after all."

"Swiss cheese?" Daniel probed. It sounded like a Jack-ism to him.

"Sam's got holes in his memory – in fact it took a few Leaps before he really understood what was happening," Al explained, somewhat sad. "He remembers more and more personal information these days, but there are some serious gaps. Leapees don't tend to remember much when they return to their time either, probably for the same reason."

"So I won't remember anything once Dr Beckett Leaps out of me and I go home?"

"Nada… as far as we know you will remember some of what happened to Sam as if it was yourself going through those motions, but apart from that it would take some serious hypnotism." The Admiral clapped his hands at this point, clearly trying to return to the point. The gesture reminded Daniel of Jack in a funny kind of way. "Ok, back to Ziggy's question. What else is Sam likely to get hit with?"

"Let's see, well after what you just mentioned about hypnotism there is a high chance that Jack and maybe Dr Beckett will be asked to spend a little time with Dr Mackenzie –"

"Who!"

It was Dr Beeks' voice that exclaimed this time, causing Daniel to spin around sharply and strain a neck muscle in the process. "Ow!"

The red in Verbeena's face showed her embarrassment as she rushed over and offered to give his a quick massage for the pain. "Sorry! I'm so sorry – but I should have guessed earlier…"

"Guessed what?" Daniel replied irritably.

"About Dr Mackenzie – he's a colleague of mine. Gooshie, you remember I suggested him to you when I wasn't available yesterday?"

The programmer nodded mutely.

"There are only a few of us who typically have access to the most secure sites, for obvious reasons. He's a good psychiatrist," she added weakly.

The archaeologist grumbled in return. "Maybe, but he's not always popular at the SGC – has trouble dealing with some of the things we see, seems to think we make stuff up to annoy him. Though in Jack's case, he's probably right."

Al snorted. "I can believe it. Anything else?"

Daniel blinked briefly as Dr Beeks finished working on his neck, stretching it with a minor wince before answering. "Uh, well they will keep him under guard I'm sure – but other than that I'm not too sure. It'll probably depend on his response more than anything else."

"And if he doesn't say anything, but they find out anyway?"

"The same, only worse. If he confesses, they might trust him – if not… they might take his warnings as an attempt to save his skin and ignore him completely," Daniel shrugged slightly. "And if he Leaps into someone else at the SGC, the circus will start over."

"Great," Al muttered, passing a hand before his eyes while Gooshie and Tina turned back to their consoles. "Whaddaya recommend Ziggy?"

The ego-driven computer sounded unsure when she replied, which still freaked Daniel out a little – as any emotion from a machine would.

"I believe that this will be Dr Beckett's own decision to make, Admiral. We remain unable to broadcast a solid signal to his position, therefore it will be difficult to advise him or monitor his activities."

"Aaargh!" Al clenched his fists and thumped a table. "Why couldn't we just stick to nice, simple household Leaps? You know – keeping a kid off drugs, saving a marriage… anything but another damned secret underground lab!"

Daniel coughed a little guiltily. "Uh, sorry?"

"It's not your fault, kid," the older man muttered.

"I know, but –"

"It's not your fault. Stop apologising, all right? We'll figure a way through this, we always do."

Al was obviously frustrated, but in the small Control Room there wasn't much room for Daniel to keep out of his way. He racked his brains for a way to help, but he felt like a third wheel. It was like an SG1 mission gone wrong, running for the Gate and being told to dial home because, let's face it, he wasn't all that good at shooting Jaffa. Now he was in the same situation, only even less aware of what was going on.

"Wait a second…" he murmured, suddenly coming up with an idea, but not sure how to articulate it. "Er, Ziggy… ma'am?"

"Yes, Dr Jackson," she replied calmly, while Al looked at him strangely.

"Uh, you mentioned problems reaching Dr Beckett earlier – and I know I wouldn't understand the first thing about sending an audio-visual signal back in time, but I was wondering if you'd tried, ah –" he wracked his brains for a way to phrase this, knowing there was a popular metaphor designed for the task. "That's it! Piggyback! Have you tried piggybacking our live feed from NORAD?"

Now there were several pairs of eyes on him, and he began to feel as if he'd suggested something idiotic.

"It was just –"

"Ziggy, would that work?" Al broke in, waving that Daniel should stop talking. "Could we get it through without being jammed?"

The archaeologist blinked in shock. He'd done good?

Ziggy's panels flashed a little faster for a moment, while Gooshie and Tina – who'd paused for a moment – appeared to call up specific data and whispered between themselves.

"Close your mouth, kid," Al muttered to him sideways.

"Huh?"

"You look like a guppy – surprised or something?"

"Uh, yes – very, in fact. I, uh… it was a guess…" he blinked nervously.

"Admiral," Ziggy announced brusquely and somewhat huffily. "I do believe that Dr Jackson's suggestion is viable. We may not be able to achieve 100 transmission, however the clarity of your hologram will be much improved."

"Fantastic!" Al cheered, slapping Daniel on the back. "And will anyone detect the signal?"

"That is unlikely due to the frequency used, however not impossible."

If Ziggy had a face, Daniel could have sworn she'd be glaring at him like a Tollan. That race were far ahead of Earth in terms of technology, but they hated it when Sam came up with a good idea. Then he heard a whisper in his ear from Al.

"Don't worry, she hates being out thought by us mere mortals – nice one, kid."


	28. Amnesia Sucks

Disclaimer: not mine, no money here – move along please…

A/N: Yay! Another chapter! One day I may even finish this story :)

Reviewers: Thank you all for your forgiveness! Treat of the day is a really nice bacon sarnie... I could kill for one right now… (spot the dieter).

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**September 21st, 1998 – P3X-984 (the Alpha site)**Jack's POV 

"Hello? Helloooooo? Come on guys, just say hi – anything."

Silence was the only response Jack received.

"Not even a game of rock, paper, scissors to pass the time? Deck of cards?"

Nothing.

"Some pie? I'm hungry…"

Nada. Baiting fellow humans wasn't nearly as much fun as baiting Jaffa.

"You guys suck, you know that?"

Lying back down on his pallet, Jack puffed his indignation and reflected on his inglorious situation. The Alpha site didn't really have a holding cell as such – it was more of a cage covered with an old tarpaulin – but it was certainly effective. There were guards outside, and being in the middle of the encampment would make life difficult if he tried to escape. That and everyone here knew everyone else by sight, and Colonel O'Neill wasn't exactly the least known face on this sparsely populated planet.

How had things come to this?

Ok, not how, because he'd pieced that together himself, but _how?_ How did someone manage to fool his entire team – not to mention the rest of the SGC – for over a day? Apparently he, she or it had managed to gain a sprained ankle in the process, which should have been their first clue, but to be sucked in like that? It was bad, very bad – and made worse by the fact that none of them seemed to realise that the person they'd locked up was the real Jack O'Neill. Lord only knew where the impostor was now, or when – if! – they'd come round.

Not only that, but where the hell had he been for the last couple of days? Mars? Why couldn't he remember?

The sounds of the Alpha site swirled around and into Jack's tent. The wind in the trees seemed to be getting stronger, bringing in noises from all over the area – people walking, some marching, younger voices yelling. That must be Teal'c's training exercise, Jack decided – at least imprisonment had gotten him out of babysitting then. Overlying it all though was the distinctive sound of the Stargate dialling in, and troops manning the guns until an IDC was recognised.

Idly, Jack wondered why they bothered with P-90s when the fact was that any race that could bypass the iris – either here or on Earth – probably wouldn't be stopped by a few bullets. Made the campers feel better most likely.

The ka-whoosh was heard, and soon after the grating sound of a retracting iris – it was the SGC then, probably Janet come to torment him. With any luck she'd go see Dr Raste first, although on second thoughts that could be bad too. One petite doctor was bad enough, two was unimaginable. Or maybe it was Daniel and Carter come to ruffle his feathers and make him confess. For Carter, anything. Danny? He should be so lucky.

There was a rattle of safeties being taken off outside, and Jack realised he must be first on the visiting list. Peachy. For a moment he debated whether to stay lying down, as he would for your average, run-of-the-mill Goa'uld, but then decided that he may as well maintain a little dignity for his own people – even if they weren't exactly receptive to it right now. He rose to a stand-easy position and eyed up the fold in the canvas that denoted the entrance, doubting very much that they'd let him out any time soon.

Suddenly the tarp was drawn back across the top of his cage and bright light entered his eyes. After a few hours of green-filtered light it was a lot to take in, and Jack's eyes winced involuntarily, though he managed to stand his ground while his sight readjusted. A few blinks later, Dr Fraiser was before him – along with Dr Raste and four Marines.

"Door number one, then," he mumbled to himself, then waved to his visitors. "How's things, folks? Nice day ain't it?"

An amused twist of Janet's lips showed that he hadn't lost his touch just yet, but her eyes hardened soon afterwards. Ah, well – if it was that easy, getting out wouldn't be so much fun now would it?

"Good morning, sir," was all she offered as a table was hastily constructed outside the cage and equipment laid out in an orderly fashion.

Noting the fact that she'd called him sir, Jack withheld comment and instead took a look at Dr Fraiser's new toys. It was surprising to say the least.

"Uh, doctor – is that a lie detector?"

"Yes, it is."

"You do realise that I've had just a tiny bit of training in how to fool those things, right?"

The redhead smiled a little as she took a seat and got busy with a set of vials.

"Oh no you don't, not more needles, not today – she promised," Jack glared at Dr Raste accusingly. "'Sides, I don't remember anything so a truth serum won't do much good either."

"I believe I told you that there would be no more needles from me, Colonel," Dr Raste replied sweetly as she took a seat opposite Janet, where she would evidently monitor the machine itself. "And the preparation that we will be using today is a combination sedative."

"Like that's going to work? No memories, hello?" Jack paced in his cage, hands on his head in frustration. "Look if I knew what was going on I'd tell you, but there's someone loose out there who shouldn't be. Go find him and deal with me later – how's that?"

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Colonel," Janet replied quietly, testing a syringe as she did so. "Our orders are clear."

Jack winced involuntarily, but figured that if both doctors were still using his rank there must be some hope. "Let's get on with then…"

Nodding to a couple of the Marines, Janet indicated that the cage door should be opened. Weapons were trained on the prisoner as she entered to give him the shot, slapping his arm to find a vein and sliding that cold metal into his skin. It gave him the heebie-jeebies, as always.

_Heebie-jeebies?_ Jack suddenly thought. I use some funny words, but that's not me… so where the hell did I get 'heebie-jeebies' from?

"Colonel?"

"Huh?" Oops, must have missed something there.

"Your other arm?" Dr Fraiser repeated, holding out the band that would monitor his blood pressure and feed it to the lie detector. It and certain other instruments had been fed through the cage bars – something to monitor pulse rate, something else he recognise as testing for sweat. Obviously she wasn't intending to stay inside while they carried out the interrogation, and two of the Marines were busy turning the old tarp into a more serviceable tent.

"Y'know it would be so much nicer if we could do this under a nice warm mountain," Jack commented, eyeing up the cloudy sky outside. "Or Jamaica. I hear it's great this time of year."

"Just take a seat, Colonel," was Janet's wry response as she left the cage, but he could hear the smile in her voice. Slowly but surely, he was getting there. Maybe.

Focussing on the chair, Jack forgot to account for the sound of the cage closing – not that he'd have to under normal circumstances, but the echoing sound through his head and the unconscious swaying of his body showed that whatever drug the SGC had laid its hands on was doing the trick. Hands out, he grasped the back of the chair and gently lowered himself in.

"Go 'head, Janet," he suggested mildly, blinking and shaking his head a little. It did nothing to relieve the increasing fuzziness of his brain though, and despite the drug-induced feeling of calm he recognised that this was not a normal state of mind. "Won't fight too much, I pr'mise."

Nodding to Dr Raste, Janet began the interview with a series of standard questions – name, date of birth, schools attended, service number etc. – gauging 'normal' levels before heading into the main body of what they needed to know. The answers were certainly correct, but Jack threw in a lot more detail than necessary – just to make sure she knew it was him. Of course the 'normal' levels were useless if he lied at every question, so Janet also held up a blue piece of card and asked him to tell her it is was red.

"Ok, so i's red, but I'll bet the lil wiggle stick on that doohickey didn' wiggle mush more than before eh?" Jack slurred apologetically. "Tha's trainin' tha' is. Can' turn it off, y'know. 'S jus' there."

He felt as if he were drunk, but it was obvious that his body recognised the effect of the drug. Jack was hoping that the sedative would loosen up whatever was blocking his memories though.

From the sigh in Dr Fraiser's voice, she also realised that the combination drug wasn't working as well as they'd hoped, but she pressed on regardless. He knew that she wasn't certified to hypnotise anyone, so whatever came of this interview would have to do for now.

"I'm going to have to ask you to concentrate a little harder now sir – think back to the last day or so," Janet suggested softly. "Think about the day you came back from P3X-970. What do you remember?"

Frowning, Jack played out the scene in his mind. " I 'member shouting at Danny to dial the Stargate, and me n' Sam covered him. I got five o' them, Sam got three. Danny musta sent the code through, and he was carrying the popcorn machine thing, so then he… he ran through the Gate, then Sam, and I followed… and… and…"

"And what, Colonel?"

"Tryin…" Jack put his hands to his temples and screwed his eyes up tight. "I dunno… i's fuzzy… real fuzzy…"

"His heart rate has gone up," Dr Raste's voice commented on the edge of his awareness.

Janet broke into his thoughts then. "Take a couple of deep breaths, Colonel. Open your eyes and try to relax."

He did as he was bid, fixing a wobbly gaze on his regular tormentor. "You try relaxing when you can' 'member the last couple days… lockered up by frien's in some freaky whi' room…"

"White room?" The doctor's surprise was evident to all. "Sir, you're in a tent. It's… uh… green."

Jack grimaced, suddenly uncertain of himself. Where was he getting this white room from? "Uh…"

"Think back to the white room, Colonel. What else do you remember about it?" Janet asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice. "Is there any furniture, anyone with you? How did you get there?"

Breathing deeply a couple more times, Jack tried to concentrate without concentrating too much. It was a difficult task because he was automatically compensating for the drug-induced haze – and while he knew that the haze might actually help him in this circumstance, getting it to work for him was harder than he'd hoped. Slowly an image formed, and he tried not to clutch at it. It was a tricky moment, wanting to remember but not wishing to chase the confused memory away.

"I… woke up in the whi' room… dunno how I go' ther'…"

"Woke up?"

"Well… guess so… I was on a bed… no' ver' comfortable though…"

There was a pause as he tried to expand his view.

"Was there anyone with you, Colonel?"

"Itchy n' Scratchy… 'member watching 'em… and… small guy… wier' clothes…"

There was a rustle of paper outside the cage.

"Uh, what was his name, Colonel?"

Jack stared at Janet as if she'd grown horns, though of course she hadn't. "Name?"

"Yes, his name. Do you remember it?"

He looked down at the muddy ground, clutching at the straws in his mind – it felt like grabbing air.

"No…"

The tent above them rustled in the wind, distracting Jack long enough for him to look upwards and see light flickering through the canvas, shadows of the tree leaves outside. It reminded him of something else.

"Ziggy."

"Sir?"

Jack brought his gaze back to the doctors beyond the cage. "Flashy lights… Ziggy."

"Is that the name of the man you saw?" Janet pressed.

"No," he replied, passing a hand across his eyes. "No… female voice… but… no' a woman…? Argh! Why? Why can' I remember?"

"Calm down sir, please. You're doing well, really."

The tone of Janet's voice wasn't quite as reassuring as the words, and Jack snickered to hear it. "No 'm not… useless…"

"Uh, Doctor Fraiser?" Dr Raste broke in.

"Yes?" Janet sounded irritated, while Jack quietly observed his bootlaces.

"The… uh… the batteries on the voice recorder have run out."

"Already?"

"We've had a little trouble with this before on this planet, something to do with local radiation – harmless to us, but –"

"Ok, ok – do you know where to find some more?"

"Yes –"

"Go get some then. Colonel, we'll be back in a moment." Janet paused, and Jack felt a light hand on his arm. "Sir?"

"Still 'ere…"

"Keep trying, sir. We'll be back shortly."

"Ok…"

Waving to the Marines, who naturally remained behind, Jack sat back in his chair and decided to let the muddle in his brain take him wherever it wanted to go. He was still mightily confused by the images he'd half-remembered, and they slipped out of his grasp almost as quickly as they came. Who was the man in the funny clothes? And who – or what – was Ziggy?

He tried to imagine a white room. He tried to imagine lying down in a white room. Maybe that would help, putting himself into a fuzzy place that he may have visited sometime… but after a while he drew the conclusion that all he was getting was a crick in the neck. Between the haziness and the 'lying down', Jack was getting very sleepy. So sleepy in fact, that he yawned.

Shaking himself, he looked out of the tent again. The patterns of light through the canvas continued all around him, and in his drugged state of mind it was almost hypnotic. He was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

"Back yet?"

He heard someone shift position, their movements far sharper and surer than anything he was capable of right now.

"Uh, no… sir."

Jack kicked the ground in response, but his foot didn't want to play ball. It wasn't too surprising, given the sedative they'd administered, but the overall effect wasn't doing much for his self-esteem. Leaning backwards in his chair again, Jack pursed his lips and watched the play of light. As before it lulled him towards doziness, and without the barrage of questions to keep him alert Jack found himself falling towards a dreamless oblivion. Soon it was too hard to fight, and his eyelids shut of their own free will.

"Nigh' nigh'…"

He woke up again when a hand shook his shoulder roughly. One of his arms was attached to something (the blood pressure monitoring doohickey), but that still left the other arm free to grab the intruder's wrist and twist it backwards as he came to his feet, still wobbly, but feeling much better than he had.

"Release the doctor!" A rough male voice yelled, and more than one safety was released with a clatter.

Suddenly Jack realised whose arm he was twisting and jumped back with a shock, slowly letting her go as he did so. "Janet!"

"Glad to see you're awake, Colonel," she replied dryly, shaking her arm out. "Maybe we gave you too much sedative – or too little?"

"Bit of both?" Jack mumbled apologetically, putting a hand down on the back of the chair to steady himself. At least his reflexes were still ok, but the adrenaline obviously didn't extend to standing up. "Did I hurt you?"

The doctor patted him on the shoulder reassuringly, then turned to leave the cage again. "Nothing I can't recover from. Did you remember anything more while you were asleep?"

Sitting down with a bump, Jack crossed his arms and stretched his legs out while the Marines locked him in once more. "Remind me again where we were? It's all a bit fuzzy still."

"The drug seems to be wearing off though, isn't it?"

He nodded. "I don't think it was doing much good anyway."

"Agreed," Janet replied, turning to Dr Raste and receiving her concurrence also. "Meghna, could you please start the recorder up again?"

"Affirmative," the other doctor replied, pressing the appropriate button. "Interview with Colonel Jack O'Neill (presumed), part two. Drs Fraiser and Raste present."

After a nod from Dr Raste, Janet sat down and looked toward Jack. "Ok, Colonel. Do you remember anything more about the white room, the man in 'weird clothes', flashing lights or Ziggy?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again, searching his mind. What he found was… unexpected to say the least. "Oh."

Dr Fraiser cocked her head to one side. "Oh?"

"Yeh, oh." Jack frowned and stood up, then sat down again. He'd thought he was confused before, but this really took the biscuit. "I remember telling you about the white room, and Ziggy, and all that, but… how can I put this? There's nothing there any more."

"Nothing there?" Janet was incredulous.

"Yuh-huh – it's gone. Completely. Before there was an impression of, y'know, being in that place, even if it was fuzzy, but now there's nothing. It's like I was telling you about something I heard, not what I saw myself." Jack scrubbed his eyes with the free arm, then sat up very very straight. "This is freaking me out!"

"What is, Colonel?" Janet sounded worried now, and glanced at her colleague in concern.

Jack was muttering in his frustration. "Argh! This can't be real – it… doesn't make any sense… Janet, I think someone's been fiddling with my memories again."

"Again? You mean like Nem?" She referred to the Oannes who'd implanted false memories of Daniel's death into the three other members of SG1, just over a year ago now.

"Got it in one – I didn't remember anything, then I thought I did, and now I remember something completely different that makes no sense whatsoever!"

"Colonel – Jack – please, tell us what you remember," Janet stated calmly. "We can start from there, and work our way forward."

He looked up, his expression strained. "Tell you what I remember? I remember the whole of the last two days, but the memories from when we left Teaset's place to coming here do not add up!"

"Why not?"

"Because, Janet, my brain is now telling me that I spent the last day in a wheelchair. That my ankle was sprained so painfully that I couldn't stand up," Jack vented somewhat aggressively. "I've sprained my ankle before, and I know it doesn't heal this quickly. I mean look at this!" He stood up and hopped on the leg that his brain told him was seriously injured. "It doesn't fit!"

The two doctors looked on in amazement, and Jack nearly cringed under their intense scrutiny. If he hadn't sounded crazy before, he did now.

"Do you, uh, remember anything else… Colonel?" Janet asked after a moment, clearly as confused as he was – though maybe not for the same reasons.

Jack nodded wearily. "You'll probably find that I remember everything I'm 'supposed' to now." He mimicked the little quote signs with a sarcastic grin. "Doesn't change the fact that it's not real – it can't be real."

He stood up again and began pacing, sorting through his brand new memories, then looked up at the sky and made a growl of annoyance.

"Here's a good one – I even seem to remember watching _Star Wars!_ Janet, I remember buying the tickets last week, but the images I get when I think about the movie, it's like one of those pirate movies where someone's been sat in the audience with a camcorder. Not me. I would've been watching the explosions and the pod race – whatever the hell that is – this guy was checking out the graphics!"

Suddenly he wobbled a little and sat down hard. The sedative wasn't completely gone from his system yet.

"Did anyone else come in here while we were away, Lieutenant?" Janet asked one of the Marines sharply.

"No ma'am, not even a leaf," was the disciplined reply.

"And we were only gone a few minutes anyway," she mumbled to herself. "How do the instruments look, Meghna?"

"Well his heart rate is elevated, as is blood pressure and sweat – but given the Colonel's, uh, emotional state that's to be expected," the other doctor replied. "I'm afraid I can't say much more than that, especially considering his training."

"Understood – but if he's telling the truth, he's right about the fact that none of this fits. Strange things happen around here, but I'm afraid of what this might mean," Janet replied softly. "I need to contact the General ASAP."

"Janet?" Jack asked, his expression clearly begging to know what she'd concluded.

She looked him up and down, seeming to weigh her options. "Sir, I'm relatively convinced that you are who you say you are based on the strength of the blood tests Dr Raste performed, your fingerprints and so on. Your interview responses are confusing to say the least –"

"You're telling me…"

"– but somewhat consistent with the possibility that you were replaced for a period of approximately 38 hours, specifically the period that you – or someone mimicking you – was at the SGC."

"And at my house," Jack added, glad that Dr Fraiser seemed to be on his side, but worried about the implications. "I don't 'remember' doing anything out of the ordinary last night… but then if the memories are fake –"

"We have no way of telling what the impostor did, sir," Janet finished his thought. "But if I can get the General to agree that you should come back to the SGC we can do an MRI and see if there's any underlying evidence that your memories have been modified."

"Great, it's prod your local Colonel week…" he muttered, then raised his hands in surrender as Janet glared at him. "Fine, just go do what you have to do. I'll cooperate. I'll even wear restraints if it gets me out of here more quickly, and that's a once in a lifetime offer!"

"As you wish, sir." Janet gathered up her papers, gesturing that the instruments and table should be packed away. "You can remove the armband now and pass it to Dr Raste."

Nodding, Jack peeled off the blood pressure doohickey whose name he would never see fit to memorise, and handed it through the bars to petite doctor number 2. "Is there anything else you want to ask me before you go?"

Janet paused, then lifted her head and regarded him carefully. "Actually, there is."

"Shoot."

"Do you remember anything about a note found in Daniel's office? A note that he didn't write?"

The appropriate mental image appeared immediately, surprising Jack with its clarity. "Uh, yeh – I remember the shit hitting the fan, to put it bluntly. Weird. So you think it was whoever was being me at the time?"

Dr Fraiser nodded. "I know the memories are most likely false, and I doubt that whoever implanted them left anything incriminating in there, but if there are any clues I'm sure that Major Castleman would be glad to hear them."

Jack's mind raced through the incident, but came up with nothing. "Sorry, Janet – like you said, it seems to have been edited. Though I don't think I would have taken quite so long to call security, if you know what I mean."

The doctor nodded and picked up the last of her things. "I shouldn't be more than a few minutes, sir. In the meantime I will have to request that you stay under guard."

"Fine, fine," he grumbled tokenly, though of course he understood the logic and protocol behind her decision. He had offered, after all. "And hey, Janet?"

"Yes sir?" she replied from the other end of the tent.

"You might want to get everyone at the SGC to parade in front of Major Castleman and his goon squad. I mean everyone – civilians included. The impostor could still be there, 'being' someone else, and if he is he'll have a limp."

"Agreed. I'll suggest that they begin right away."

Janet snapped him a salute as she left, which Jack returned gratefully. He might still be locked up, but headway was a wonderful thing.


	29. Running Interference

Disclaimer: Somehow I don't think I'd be able to keep it quiet if I managed to make any money out of this fanfiction lark!

Treat of the day: Broccoli. Honest.

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**September 26th, 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Al's POV**

Things were looking up for the first time that weekend. Gooshie and Tina were alternately programming Ziggy and soothing her over-temperamental ego; while Verbeena was having a quiet, unrelated chat in the Waiting Room with Daniel. And Al? Well he wasn't having quite so much fun, because despite it being a Sunday he figured that he should get started on the paperwork.

For every Leap, there shall be a report. For every report, there shall be several hours of writing and re-writing, followed by trying to recover the original attempt because it made more sense than the rest put together. After all these years Al knew his routine better than anyone, which was why he figured he'd better get on with the job. This wasn't going to be the easiest Leap to explain, and he had high hopes of concealing quite how top-secret the top-secret Leap should be classified. The last thing he wanted was for Kinsey to get wind of what they'd landed in this time – especially after playing that trick on him earlier. Maybe he should just leave that part out and hope for the best.

Puffing in irritation, Al looked up from his umpteenth game of Minesweeper and angled his gaze towards Tina and Gooshie. How was it that they could get so motivated about their work in an instant, and he couldn't? It took hours of failed Minesweeping to get him in a suitable frame of mind to accept the dreary task (i.e. despondent), but their enthusiasm was barely concealed beneath the surface, just waiting to get out. He remembered being that keen too, but for some reason he was deemed too old and decrepit for active duty these days. Not that he minded travelling through time as a hologram – that was fantastic, even if he was chasing after Sam all the time – but as the most senior person on this base he also got the joyful downside of meetings, analyses and forecasting.

Maybe the universe did have a sense of balance after all.

"Are we nearly there yet?" he called out, his tone bored, though he was already certain of the response. Gooshie would babble about diagnostics, and Tina would give him a great view of her ample bosom in the hope that it would keep him quiet for another half-hour. Ziggy would remain haughtily silent, especially after her earlier embarrassment.

"Well, we've managed to locate the feed suggested by Dr Jackson, and based on the frequency and modulation of our usual signal I believe that we should be able to take advantage of the unused portions of the SGC bandwidth by…"

Al allowed Gooshie's voice to wash over him as he eagerly waited for Tina to turn round. No leaning down required, just turn around and let me take in the view, he urged her silently. Damn it, if she didn't turn around soon he'd have to offer her a coffee or something – that would get her attention… but he'd have to make the coffee too.

"Al?"

Intent on developing telepathy as he was, it took Al a few seconds to realise that Gooshie wasn't explaining the finer points of his new toy any more.

"Uh, yes Gooshie?" the Admiral replied with what little dignity he could gather.

The specialist sighed. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"Course I did!"

"Ok, so what did I say?"

"Mmm… that you're nearly ready to give it a whirl?"

It wasn't as much of a stab in the dark as he'd assumed, because Gooshie's eyes merely narrowed. Caught out, but not completely. Excellent. Though Tina still hadn't performed her half-hourly duty. Perhaps that was a Sunday thing.

Coughing slightly under Gooshie's quietly irate gaze, Al decided to try another tactic. "How well do you rate our chances, Ziggy?"

"Adequate, Admiral," Ziggy's voice was superior as ever, indicating that she would not be willing to entertain any further criticism or suggestions – however helpful – for some time. "As Dr Fisichella explained we will attempt to piggyback the signal on several different feeds, partly to disguise any detectable effects and partly to increase the likelihood of a solid audio-visual projection."

"Thanks," Al replied wryly, knowing that if this idea failed she'd be unbearably smug… in fact if this wasn't all in aid of helping her beloved creator he'd almost suspect her to sabotage the attempt. "Yell when you're ready."

Giving up on his hope that Tina and her bosom might oblige his libido with a glance, Al turned back to his workstation and groaned. For a moment there he'd manage to forget about the damned report. He called up his weekly summary and decided that it would have to do for now – a simple listing of whether any Leapees had been in or out, associated action by Sam, estimated operating costs for the week, etc etc. Sure he knew what they wanted to hear, but sometimes the electricity usage of this place made him cringe all by itself. No wonder Kinsey grumbled.

One spell check and an email later, and the report was off. It was a Sunday, and the current Leap wasn't exactly over… even if Jack O'Neill had left the building. That's the way to do it. The rules were more like guidelines anyway, or so he assured himself.

Stretching his legs, Al stood up with a creak and decided to visit Verbeena and Daniel. They had a pot of coffee in there with them, and picking a mug up there would give him a great excuse for not getting Tina any – he wouldn't have to walk past her, therefore no reason to enquire after her needs, wishes or desires. That'd teach her, heh.

"Back in while, kids – I need to check up on our visitor."

"'kay hun," his astute girlfriend replied, still huddled over her work. "Don't forget to bring us all some coffee on your way back!"

So much for that plan – now he was expected to feed Gooshie's habit too! Female intuition had just been proven.

"Sure," Al answered, resigned to his fate.

In the Waiting Room, things weren't much more to his liking.

"Hey guys, what're you talking about?"

"Admiral! Actually we've been comparing notes – I'm currently writing a paper regarding the superficial changes in the nation's psychological profile over the last few decades, mainly what individuals expect from life and those they interact with, cultural norms, that kind of thing. It's based on my discussions with our Leapees –"

Al held up a hand, shocked. "Wait a sec – you're writing a paper on this?"

Dr Beeks looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, not a paper as such. More of a report for the Joint Chief and perhaps the Oversight Committee. I doubt it'll ever be read, but I have to prove my worth somehow. Also it helps me to organise my thoughts and rationalise the best way to approach our more traumatised visitors."

"Uh ok…" At least he wasn't the only one with paperwork to file. "And so how's Daniel helping you?"

The archaeologist smiled in a self-effacing manner that reminded Al so much of his best friend that he nearly reeled back in shock. The physical likeness was a given, but it was the Leapees' behaviour that usually kept Sam and his counterparts separate in Al's mind.

"Actually it's very interesting for both of us. See, when an artefact is found from a particular civilisation we often determine what its use might have been based on what we know from our own culture and other civilisations. That also involves quite a lot of indirect psychoanalysis, particularly when a temple or settlement is discovered. It's really very exciting – but Dr Beeks has observed changes on a shorter timescale, which –"

"Ok!" Al surrendered, shaking his head and wishing for a nice aircraft carrier in the open ocean. Life had been so much simpler back then. "I get it. Sorta." He looked up at the pair and failed to decipher their knowing expressions. "What? What did I say?"

Daniel managed to combine a look of sympathy with amusement. "Hmm… well, you just reminded me a lot of Jack there – usually when he's trying to avoid paperwork. His normal tactic is to annoy Sam and I until we kick him out of the labs."

"Really?" Al replied in a dry tone, hoping that it masked his suspicion that someone upstairs had a grudge against active servicemen and women who got promoted above Commander or Major (depending on which branch of the armed forces they'd joined). "Well it's a good thing he's not the base CO then, isn't it?"

"Uh…" the Leapee didn't seemed to know how to respond to that remark.

"How can we help you then, Admiral?" Verbeena asked smoothly. No guesses why she was such a good psychiatrist.

Al drew himself up into some semblance of authority. "I, uh, just wanted to check on you both and make sure that everything was ok. No side effects to the Leap, that sort of thing."

Dr Beeks tried to hide an obvious smirk. "In that case I am glad to assure you that as far as either of us can ascertain, Dr Jackson is in good mental health and has probably adjusted to his surroundings far better than most of our guests."

"Though that might be because you've told me a lot of what goes on here," Daniel added modestly. "I can see how this could be very disorienting otherwise."

"And of course your line of work has nothing to do with regular disorientation," Al finished with a short laugh. "Can I get a coffee?"

"White and two?" Verbeena asked.

"Today, black and two."

"Coming up."

Daniel clasped and unclasped his hands in apparent nervousness. "Uh, how are Tina and Gooshie doing… Al?"

"Pretty good, so far as I can tell. We should be ready to try your idea in a while. Thanks Verbeena," he added as he received his mug. "The signal couldn't get any worse because of it, but everyone's hoping that we'll at least be able to talk to Sam with the boost it gives us."

"And after that? Uh… how long before I can, y'know – go home?"

Al sighed. He should have seen that one coming. "That's not something we've ever been able to calculate I'm afraid. Ziggy's scenarios are generally accurate, but pinpointing how to make them come about has always been hit-and-miss."

At Daniel's stricken look, the older man cursed his choice of words.

"That came out wrong – what I mean is, Sam's never been stuck in one place for too long. He always Leaps, but it can take a while to work out who needs a nudge and when if you get my drift. For instance this time we figure that saving your friend Jack is the most likely objective, but we don't even know how he died the first time."

The archaeologist cringed at the word 'died', but nodded all the same. "Ok, I can deal with that. There was one thing I was thinking about though – if Dr Beckett Leaped out of Jack when he went through the Stargate, will he Leap back into him if they bring Jack back?"

Al blinked, his mind running through the possibility. "You think too much, Daniel. I have no idea."

"Admiral Calavicci."

Ziggy's clipped tones rang through the Waiting Room at twice the normal volume, interrupting the conversation like a slap to the face. She'd planned it that way, Al was sure of it.

"What?"

"Drs Fisichella and Martinez-O'Farrell have completed their tasks and a full diagnostic indicates that the new system is ready for testing."

"Quiet down a bit would you? Ear drums can burst," he muttered. Damned egotistical computer – thank God there was only one in the world. "We'll be there in just a second."

Verbeena stood up gracefully, and Daniel's Sam-like face held barely contained enthusiasm. Of course, Al realised, Daniel hasn't actually seen this baby in action yet has he?

Smiling, he nodded to the pair. "Showtime, boys and girls – and bring that coffee pot with you, ok?"

In the Control Room, Tina finally got her coffee. It came from Daniel, and she gave him a peck on the cheek in thanks, slyly watching for Al's reaction all the while. Al, for his part, rolled his eyes and indicated Gooshie's pining expression in the corner. At least life was never dull at Project Quantum Leap.

"Are we ready?" He called out to Ziggy.

"We are, Admiral. Please step into the Imaging Chamber so that we can begin."

"Ok, ok. Daniel – he's likely to be in your office then?"

"Unless he's already been found out," the archaeologist replied worriedly.

Al shrugged as he walked to the door and picked up the handset from Gooshie. "If that's the case we'll just have to play by ear. These guys will tell you how to contact me while I'm in there."

Daniel nodded, and Al had to smile. The kid was probably wishing he could do a little time travelling himself – ancient cultures were his speciality after all – but this time machine wasn't exactly HG Wells material.

One wave of the hand later and Al was inside the Imaging Chamber, but since they hadn't yet locked onto Sam's position its wall remained an iridescent white – much like the Waiting Room. He jabbed at the handset and looked around him. "Ok, hit me."

The images came swiftly enough, and Al was relieved to see that they were already more coherent than his last visit to the SGC. An office, grey walls, books from floor to ceiling, and one Dr Sam Beckett at the desk, nose deep in books – he'd arrived.

Noting the dull hum in the background, Al tried to clear his ears and failed. Must be a signal thing, he decided before characteristically thwacking the handset – causing it to yelp, as usual – hoping that that Gooshie would get the message and fiddle with the audio.

"Al!"

He looked up sharply. "Sam?"

"Al! It's so good to hear you, see you – you're not even that blurry!"

"You can hear me? I mean, uh – I can hear you! Hey Gooshie, it worked! Tina – give Daniel another of those kisses would ya!" Al couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Good to see you pal, how's it going?"

"How did you do it?" Sam asked at lightening speed. "See I was trying to figure out a solution to your broadcast problems, but –"

"Enough already! Something to do with piggybacks and NORAD feeds – I don't care, we made it and – thank God – we can actually have a decent conversation. How's the ankle?"

Sam looked down, evidently embarrassed. "Bad. I'm not going anywhere Al, not unless the men in white coats come for me."

"Flak jackets, more like," Al joked darkly, depressed that their fears had proven correct. "Does anyone suspect you yet?"

"Nope, but then the only person who's been in here to visit me – or rather Daniel – is the doctor. Nice lady, though I was scared stiff that she'd see me wincing."

Al walked around the table to get a better look at what Sam had been reading. "What on earth is that? Looks like gobbledygook to me!"

His friend laughed in return. "It's nothing on Earth at all, Al. Never seen it before in my life, but I figured that I may as well have a go at translating something since I could be stuck for a while. That and the real expert is a little indisposed?"

"Yeh, well… about that."

Sam closed a couple of the books and sat back, regarding him. "Now there's a serious tone. What's up?"

"Uh…" Al glanced around the room, suddenly worried that there might be CCTV installed.

"No one's watching Al," Sam stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Otherwise I'd be in custody instead of Colonel O'Neill."

The Admiral blanched. "Then Daniel was right."

"You've told him all about Quantum Leap?"

"Yeh – we didn't want to waste any time, especially when we found out who he was. _When_ he was, too."

"No kidding," was the wry reply. "Well, the way I heard it, Colonel O'Neill jumped out of the wheelchair the second he arrived at the Alpha site and was immediately put under guard. Dr Fraiser was on her way out there to complete some tests."

Al rubbed his eyes. "Heh. Obviously he's himself again – question is, what does he remember?"

It was Sam's turn to smile wearily. "That's what I've been wondering too. My guess is nothing – Dr Fraiser didn't really hold much back when she was here, she wanted to know what I thought of his behaviour the last couple of days, that sort of thing."

"Ironic."

"Very. Anyway, he and Daniel are apparently best friends, so I'm guessing that she'd have told me if there was more too it than walking on an apparently sprained ankle." Sam wiggled the mouse to 'his' computer, then his eyes flicked back to Al. "I'm afraid to let Daniel's computer go to standby, or a screensaver. God only knows what his password is."

"Daniel?" Al called out, knowing that the archaeologist would be listening.

"Uh, much as I'd like to - no," came the disembodied reply from the Control Room.

The Admiral shook his head at his friend, sticking a finger in his ear and wiggling it. "It was worth a try. What's that noise anyhow?"

"What noise?" Sam frowned.

"Low level buzz?"

"Ah – that'll be the ventilation. We are two and a half times as deep as PQL here," the physicist (among other things) pointed out.

Al shrugged. "Yeh well – could you tone that frequency down a little Goosh? It's gonna drive me nuts."

The difference was immediate, and a smile of relief formed on Al's face – then faded as he remembered what he needed to tell Sam.

"Uh… heh, I was about to say sit down, but it looks like you're already there," the hologram joked weakly.

Sam evidently knew his friend well enough to recognise a delaying tactic when he heard one. "What's up? Has the probability matrix changed?"

Al shook his head. "No, nothing like that. But we are in deeper than I ever hoped to be."

"Tell me about it," Sam muttered, indicating his ankle. "I –"

"I –"

They paused, each waiting for the other to continue.

"You –"

"You first."

The hologram sighed, knowing he'd lost. "Ok, we've been talking to Daniel, and he's a good kid, but he thinks it's only going to be a matter of time before they catch on to you."

Sam nodded. "I figured that too. They have my prints for starters – those results won't take much longer – and while Dr Jackson obviously spends a lot of time in here I'd starve sooner than I'd make any progress on Colonel O'Neill."

The pair fell silent, but their eyes met. Neither wanted to come out and say it.

"So, uh…"

"Mmm…?"

"Who d'ya think I should… y'know… tell?"

Al winced at Sam's last word. Such a small word, but it was almost an admission of failure. The number of people who'd found out about Project Quantum Leap over the years could be counted on one hand, and most of those were kids whose minds were open enough to see the hologram… and Sam's real face.

"Uh… I guess that Captain Carter would be your best bet. She knows Daniel, and she should be able to grasp most of the technical details –"

"Do you think that's wise?" Sam interrupted.

"What? A tête-à-tête with the luscious Samantha or –"

"NO!" Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean telling them about… y'know… Leaping."

Al grimaced. "Wise doesn't come into it. How else are you going to explain all this _and_ have them listen to you?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something," his friend replied, crossing his arms defensively.

"Yeh right, Sam – you're a terrible liar."

"Hmph."

"And think of how much fun it might be to talk with Captain Carter on her level…" Al dangled the carrot.

Sam rocked backwards in his chair, a sardonic expression on his face. "Al. I will be lucky to get away with a straitjacket as it is. Somehow I don't think that Captain Carter, or anyone else here for that matter, will want to talk quantum physics with the person who whisked both Dr Jackson and Colonel O'Neill away without detection. They'll be too busy forming a posse!"

"Well you'll just have to make them listen, won't you?" Al ground out between his teeth. "Because let's face it, they're not going to get Daniel back any other way."

"Hah! That's really going to go down well," his friend sighed. "Oh by the way, could you just keep Colonel O'Neill in custody for a little while longer? Why? Well if he dies I may be stuck here, then you'll have lost two of your top people. Thanks for calling."

Al prodded his handset a few times, then read the display. "Actually, that's exactly what Ziggy suggests –"

"Well then Ziggy has no tact whatsoever."

"You should know," Al taunted somewhat cruelly.

"Yeh, I know. I built her, or so you keep telling me," Sam finished. "Ok, so I tell Captain Carter… and we all pray that my confession will make the SGC that little bit more open to suggestion?"

The hologram nodded. "Vague I know, but I can't see any other way."

"Ok fine," Sam smiled weakly, and Al could see from his eyes that a plan – or coping strategy – was being formed in the physicist's mind. "I'll try to be equally vague on names, places, any specifics that they won't really need."

"Good idea."

"I hope so. It's probably a good thing that we're so close to the present, and in a place where weird is an everyday occurrence." Sam glanced back at the books and papers on Daniel's desk. "We're sure that Ziggy's scenario is correct, right?"

Al rolled his eyes. "As good as. It's not like we have much to go on here. There aren't many newspaper cuttings about wormholes these days. Nor quantum leap accelerators for that matter."

"So we have no idea whether what little I've done so far has had any effect?"

"Bingo."

"See, now this is the problem with getting so close to the present. Declassifying the assassination of JFK was easier to handle than this!" Sam joked, though the pain in his eyes showed that he remembered some of the trauma that had gone with that Leap.

"I guess time caught up with us… or you did… or something like that," Al spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Who're we to argue with the big cheese?"

They shared a smile.

"So I guess you'll be off now then?" Sam asked, looking down at his hands.

It was an almost child-like statement, and Al sympathised completely. He also felt bad, because sympathy wasn't going to be enough. Getting Sam home; now that would be enough.

Sam had been Leaping for so long now, and rarely had he ever been able to talk to someone (other than Al) as himself. The last person he'd been able to trust with that secret was Alia, another Leaper, but no one knew where she was any more. She'd Leaped out and as far as Ziggy or anyone else could tell, she was gone for good. Past, present, future – she could be anywhere – but for a while there she'd been more of a friend than Al could be. He was a hologram; he got to go home at night. Even Leapees like Jack and Daniel got to go home eventually, but Sam didn't.

"Yeh," Al admittedly eventually. "I don't know what good I could do by staying, but if anything happens I'll tell you straight away."

Sam nodded, then wiggled Daniel's mouse again with a frustrated groan.

"You could always try playing Minesweeper if you get bored," Al suggested with a lopsided grin.

"Minesweeper?"

The Admiral paused for a moment to take in the fact that his genius friend didn't know what he was talking about… although given his absence from normal life that wasn't really surprising.

"It's a game that comes with the computer these days," he explained eventually. "Lame, but great for wasting time."

"Riiiiight," Sam answered, evidently confused. "But what's the point of having that on a work-based computer?"

"Beats me," Al shrugged. "Did you ever hear of a guy called Bill Gates?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Bill Gates? Geeky guy, met him at a conference once upon a time."

Al tried hard not to laugh, settling for opening the Imaging Chamber door instead.

"Rich geeky guy, Sam – very rich. Now, take care of that ankle and I'll see you later." He waved, wishing he could give his friend a hug. "Good luck."

* * *

A/N: not exactly the best chapter I've ever come up with, but the next will be along shortly :) 


	30. Confessions of a Quantum Leaper

Disclaimer: I write this for fun, not money. 

Treat of the day: hot cross buns (it is nearly Easter after all!)

* * *

**September 21st, 1998 – Stargate Command**

**Sam Beckett's POV**

Sam Beckett watched the Imaging Chamber door slide closed with a heavy heart. How on Earth was he going to pull this off? How on any planet, for that matter - not that he could get to any of the many that seemed to be out there.

Test-flexing his ankle, Sam winced and decided that sooner would be better than later. He'd bound his injury with a makeshift bandage – one of Daniel's bandanas – but the biting pain and awkward sitting position had limited what he could do. It throbbed on the edge of his awareness like an itch that couldn't be scratched.

So… how to go about this? Should he call Captain Carter and ask her to visit him? Tell her he'd found something interesting in the translation? Or should he write a proper confession letter? There was a printer in here, but then if he write it by hand that would confirm his earlier sample, the one that was very inconveniently in the hands of the SGC's Marines. Maybe he should write down a few mathematical proofs? Now there's something that would be completely out of character for Daniel. Volunteering for a CAT scan and an MRI would be a given though – he wanted to prove that he wasn't a Goa'uld.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sam picked up the phone and dialled Captain Carter's extension – number 3 on Daniel's speed dial (after General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill). His hands shook as he pressed the speaker button and replaced the handset, pushing his chair away from the desk to minimise the temptation to slam down the phone before she answered.

It rang. It rang again. One more ring and he'd hang up. Definitely. No point in hanging on the line if she'd gone out or someth-

"Hello?"

Uh… "Hi Sam!"

The Leaper's head fell forward to his chest. What a lame greeting – his voice sounded so scared and puny.

"Daniel?"

What should he say? What could he say? Damn, he muttered silently, shoulda written a script before calling.

"Daniel, is everything ok?"

"Uh, yeh – everything's… fine," Sam replied weakly. Way to go Nobel Prize winner, yeh. "Look, uh… could you come down here a minute? There's something I really need to show you."

There, he'd said it.

There was an aggravated snort from the telephone. "Could it wait until after lunch? I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"Uh… I guess it could…" Chicken! he berated himself. "But now would be so much better."

Captain Carter paused, and he imagined her running a mental assessment of what could be switched off, put off, or otherwise ignored for a safe period of time. It's what he would have done.

"Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes and I'll be there, all right?"

"Sure." Relief and trepidation warred for control of his voice. "See you in a while."

"Ok Daniel."

And she hung up.

Dr Samuel Beckett listened to the blank tone of an unconnected line for almost a minute while he absorbed the enormity of what he was about to do. It gave him a reason not to think around the topic, but eventually the buzz annoyed him as much as the ventilation had annoyed Al. He turned the speakerphone off and took a deep breath.

"Hi, Captain. Take a seat," he practised quietly. "Why did I call you Captain? It seemed appropriate, seeing as we don't know each other too well. My name's Sam Beckett –"

He held out his hand to the phantom blonde, then leaned back on his chair.

No, no, no. Let's try this again.

"Captain! Welcome!" Sam put on a broad smile. "Please take a seat. Uh… did Dr Fraiser mention her theory to you about what happened to Colonel O'Neill? That he was replaced somehow? And now the real Colonel is back? How can I put this – she's right."

The Leaper frowned. That might do, but somehow he figured that scripting this conversation was going to be as useful as a fish on a bicycle. Plans never ran that smoothly. Still, he contradicted himself, a few dress rehearsals might keep him from being a complete wreck by the time she walked through the door.

"Sam! Sit down! Sorry to drag you here on such short notice, but I really need to show you this. No, I'm not kidding – here, feel my ankle. Sprained, huh? Take a guess why…"

The light-hearted approach felt good, but maybe a little cheeky.

Taking a deep breath, Sam pulled himself up to his desk and leaned forwards over the chaotic mix of books and papers. He clasped his hands before him and took a quick look downwards before looking his as-yet imaginary guest in the eye (or thereabouts).

"Sam. Captain Carter. I hope you'll understand why I felt like I needed to hide, but you have to believe me when I say that I never intended any harm to you, your team or this base. It's been so long since anyone's known me for who I am that camouflage has become second nature… but this time… you've got me."

The downright honest approach, a.k.a. the Boy Scout mentality. One of his biggest failings, to hear Al tell it, but it was his way. If nothing else, he'd stayed alive and Leaping this long because of it.

A flicker of movement on Daniel's monitor brought him out of his meditative frame of mind, and he was almost amused to see a stream of camels and mock Ancient Egyptians waddling from left to right. The screensaver had finally arrived, and with it went Sam's last hope of muddling through as Daniel Jackson.

It was confession or crisis, as far as he could tell, so he proceeded to take his mind off the confrontation ahead by arranging all the articles on Daniel's desk in a neat and tidy fashion. Therapeutic, if nothing else.

Captain Carter knocked on a door a few minutes later and gaped at her 'friend' and the bare table he sat at.

Sam took in her wide-eyed look and smiled nervously. "Hi."

"Hi yourself… did the jarheads develop a cleanliness streak when we weren't looking?" Her head tilted to look around the rest of the room. "If so they didn't do a very good job on the rest of the place."

"Uh… no… it was just me… I, uh… I needed space to think."

The blonde woman shrugged and pulled the door closed, walking to the desk and depositing a bundle of papers before him. "I thought you might want to see these."

Sam blinked. This wasn't meant to happen. "Uh –"

"I just finished my meeting with General Hammond, and needless to say he's pretty anxious to find out more about the popcorn machine. Have you had a chance to read Teal'c's notes yet?"

"Uh –"

"Daniel, what have you been doing all morning?" Captain Carter sat down heavily and sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling – but I didn't get much sleep last night, and that gadget is driving me crazy!"

Sam smiled sympathetically to cover the fact that his train of thought had frozen solid.

"Look, I'm really not getting anywhere with my physical analysis of the device so I took a look through Teal'c's notes regarding the incident between Hemuset and Apophis, as well as what he could remember about the legends surrounding her. I could have sworn he said he spoke to you about it, in fact didn't he stay at your place last night?"

"Uh, yeh – about –"

"So what do you think?" Captain Carter continued. "I mean his talk of her ability to corrupt any individual within a System Lord's entourage, right up the First Prime, and then withdraw without the victim remembering anything about it? It brings up some very scary possibilities – what if she could do the same to us?"

"Uh –"

The woman glanced at him, her stream of words momentarily dammed. "Oh right, you haven't read it yet."

"Uh, yeh…"

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam desperately trying to galvanise himself back into action. Focus Beckett, focus!

"Look, Sam… you remember the intruder alert we had yesterday?"

"Of course," she muttered joylessly. "And yes, Janet called to tell me."

The Leaper blinked a few times, then realised what she was referring to. "Oh, she told you about Colonel O'Neill?"

Captain Carter nodded. "I've been trying to forget all morning – maybe that's why I'm letting this device get to me." She thumped the table emphatically. "I just can't believe it could be him – I mean he was acting a little weird yesterday, but nothing to suggest…"

Sam looked down to avoid her gaze, knowing that his guilt would be written large across his face. He didn't really know any of these people, not very well, but he already felt like he'd betrayed them.

"That's the real Jack at the Alpha site, Sam – I promise," he assured her quietly.

"And how do you know that?"

"I just know," he stated. "I –"

"I just don't get how the switch could be that seamless," the blonde officer carried on, oblivious to Sam's constant attempts to butt in – though admittedly he wasn't exactly forcing the issue. "I'm sure he was… himself… when we were on P3X-970, because it would have to be a damned good fake to perform while under fire –"

"Sam –"

"- so it must have been when we got back, maybe while he was in the infirmary – or after we'd left his house last night? But no, that wouldn't work because the intruder had already been in here by then -"

"Sam!"

"And if you're right and our prisoner at the Alpha site really is Colonel O'Neill, how did the intruder switch out? Daniel, Janet inspected that ankle less than an hour before Teal'c and… the Colonel… went through the Stargate –"

It was so tempting to let Captain Carter continue blabbering on, but subtle interruptions were having as much luck as a paper dart in a headwind. Was he this bad when he got going? Probably.

"CAPTAIN CARTER!"

She halted mid-sentence, arms still in the air and her face titled away from him, but Sam soon found himself on the receiving end of a blue-eyed stare.

"Daniel?" she asked, evidently confused – and who could blame her?

Sam took a deep breath as his heart rate jumped. It was now or never.

"No. Not Daniel. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

The silence was so complete that not even an over-used metaphor could describe it. Pins dropping had nothing on this.

Slowly Captain Carter rose from her chair, hands moving to her hip as she did so – searching for a weapon that wasn't there, Sam realised. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm not armed, the door is exactly how you left it, and I have a killer ankle," he volunteered.

"Hands behind your head, and push away from the desk," was the terse reply.

Sam nodded hurriedly. "Of course."

"Now!"

The Leaper complied and watched as the woman regarded him with nervous eyes, though the remainder of her body language was poised for any move that he might make.

"You're not trying to pull my leg, are you?" she whispered.

"No," he replied shaking his head.

Her demeanour grew tense. "Let me speak to Daniel!"

"Daniel? He's not here," Sam answered, then saw her angry reaction and realised what she was getting at. "Wait! No – it's not what you think! I'm not a Goa'uld! Daniel's not a host! He's… well he's not here! Just me…"

Sam's voice trailed off as he saw her cold expression, sure that she wouldn't believe him. The SGC had far too much history with parasites to expect otherwise. Then he realised that he had a sure-fire way of proving that he was no Goa'uld.

"Captain, if I was a Goa'uld why would I have a sprained ankle? And why did I spend the last day or so in a wheelchair – wouldn't a Goa'uld have healed it by now?"

Carter's eyes narrowed. "Colonel O'Neill doesn't have an ankle injury any more."

"Exactly!" Sam jumped on her comment eagerly. "He doesn't, but I do! Ask Dr Fraiser to check it out of you want – it'll show exactly the same sprain as the one she assessed before Colonel O'Neill went through the Stargate."

She appeared to be uncertain now, clearly trying to analyse what he was saying. Taking another deep breath, Sam decided to help her along the way.

"I can give you a more in-depth explanation later on, but here are the basics. I don't take over people's bodies – this _is_ my body. It's Dr Jackson's physical aura that makes me look like him, just like Colonel O'Neill's did."

"So where's Daniel?"

"Five days in the future, looking like me." He pursed his lips and thanked God, Time, Fate or Whatever that she didn't have a gun. "I don't have any control over this, Captain – it's an experiment gone very wrong, and believe me, if I could get out of here I would."

Carter frowned, glanced quickly toward the phone, then back to her captive.

Sam hid a smirk, not wanting nervous hysteria to get the better of him. "I didn't mean on foot, Captain – I can't even walk that well right now. I'd have no chance, and I'm not kidding about the ankle. I asked you over here because I had to confess to someone, and you're a much nicer choice than Major Castleman."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"Why you, or why confess?"

"Both."

He shrugged as best he could, arms lifted as they were. "You'd find me out soon enough – if not by the bad ankle, then through the ID database. That and I don't like the idea of Colonel O'Neill being held prisoner and questioned when he's entirely innocent."

"And me?"

"You're a physicist, I'm a physicist." Sam didn't think that she believed him, but then it wasn't every day that one of your best friends confessed that he wasn't who (or what) you thought he was. "I can recite _pi _to 60 or so decimal places if you don't believe me, maybe more, or we could have a chat about quanta. Either way you're the most likely person to understand my explanation of how this happened."

"Name?"

"Sam Beckett. I can tell you more, but I suspect that you'll want to record the conversation. Please?" he begged.

"Please what?"

"Just get this over with!" Sam exclaimed in frustration. "Call in the Marines, throw me in a cell, anything. I'm obviously not going to Leap out of here any time soon and staring at me like I'm a zombie isn't going to help anyone!"

He began to pull himself closer to the telephone, having unconsciously resolved to dial security himself, but was halted by Captain Carter's sudden movement. She put a firm hand on the telephone's handset and glared, the last vestiges of hesitation having finally fled.

"I told you to stay away from the desk, Beckett, and keep your hands on your head."

Sam quirked his mouth and returned to his previous position, satisfied that Carter would take some form of action. Inside he was shaking like the proverbial leaf, but he'd meant what he'd said – the sooner he could explain himself, the sooner he'd be able to Leap out of here. In theory, anyway.

"Fine."

Keeping her eyes on him at all times, Captain Carter lifted the handset and let her fingers locate the single round button on the keypad, a slight frown indicating the moment she pressed it. Sam met her gaze and maintained eye contact, trying to keep his expression as open as possible – even if it did show how terrified he was. He wanted her to trust, if that were possible, and he'd never been that good at poker. As Al had pointed out, he was a terrible liar.

An audible beep followed by muffled words denoted that the line at connected.

"Major Castleman, please."

More indistinct dialogue followed, and Captain Carter's brow puckered.

"Well General Hammond will want to hear this too – could you put me through to his office?"

At that moment a red light began to flash in Daniel's office and a klaxon blared three times, both occupants looking up in surprise as General Hammond's brusque voice followed.

"_Attention all personnel, this is a Code Three alert. As of this moment, all personnel are confined to their current location. You are directed to await the arrival of USMC security teams and to comply with their instructions immediately. This is not a drill."_

Captain Carter looked back at Sam, the phone still in her hand. "Looks like your wish might come true more quickly than I'd expected."

"Oh boy," Sam muttered, as his adrenal glands geared up for another session.

The phone squawked, causing Carter to blink and bring it back to her ear.

"Walter? I think I may have the guy you're looking for right here – Daniel's office."

She paused, and her posture straightened visibly a moment later.

"Sir! Just now sir. Yes sir, he looks like Daniel."

Sam strained to hear what was being said on the other end of the line, failing miserably.

"Actually sir, he… uh… turned himself in. To me specifically… He claims to be from the future, sir… five days only… No sir, I'm not sure… I agree sir, we'll wait here."

The phone went down and Sam became the recipient Carter's full and undivided attention yet again. In any other situation he might consider himself to be a lucky man.

"How's Colonel O'Neill?" he ventured hopefully.

Now altogether hostile, Captain Carter did not respond to his question.

"A squad of Marines will be here shortly," she stated plainly. "They will escort you to a holding cell until Dr Fraiser returns from the Alpha site."

"And Colonel O'Neill?"

A small flicker of emotion – relief, perhaps? "He isn't any of your concern."

Sam nodded, sure that he wouldn't be granted any favours for quite some time. They'd found their intruder, and he'd been in their midst all the time. Small talk would make him feel better though, and he doubted that he'd be harmed during his 'stay' – though he'd already taken the first step to proving that this wasn't Daniel's body, so maybe they wouldn't hold back.

"I'll tell you my name, date of birth, anything like that –"

"Later," the Captain cut him off.

He muttered an 'ok', but still felt the need to get this woman on his side… or at least interested in his theories. Anything to gain an ally – not necessarily a friend, but someone who cared about how he got here as well as why. Either way he had no idea of what lay ahead, but if he could smoothen that road…

"Look I know you won't want to hear anything I have to say right now, Captain, but please – while I'm getting interrogated, tested, whatever, look up Professor Sebastian LoNigro's string theory of time travel, ok?"

His words were met with silence, but a search of Carter's blank expression revealed a small twitch in one eye.

"Uh… and in case you're interested I'm not exactly from the future… I've been away from it so long that my present is as unknown to me as it is to you…"

No response, yet again.

"I… uh –"

"Beckett!" Carter snapped suddenly. "What part of 'later' do you not understand?"

Sam clammed up immediately, straightening his fingers from their position behind his head in as close a signal to 'I surrender' as he could manage. This wasn't working. Maybe this whole idea was wrong. But if that was the case, there wasn't much he could do about it now…


	31. Undesirable Effects

Disclaimer: I write this for fun, not money.

A/N: I am a bad bad BAD person. It's been almost a year since I started this fic, and 4 months since I last updated! Shocking. Not that I haven't wanted to, I simply have trouble sitting at the keyboard and getting on with the job. Naughty Soph. I'm aiming to update once a week, but am in France for most of the coming week so please hold of the rotten tomatoes for now? And nag me. Nagging works well.

In case you need a re-cap (I know I did!): Jack's currently at the Alpha site under lock and key, having almost remembered the Waiting Room before the memory replacement settled in, and Sam has just told the other Sam that he's not everyone's favourite archaeologist after all.

* * *

**Chapter 31 – Knock-on Effects**

**September 21st, 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Gooshie's POV**

Sipping his coffee, Gooshie withheld a grumble as Al paced round the Control Room for what felt like the hundredth time. The other man had been alternately morose and antagonistic since his return from the Imaging Chamber half an hour ago, no doubt imagining bad things happening to Dr Beckett.

Not that Gooshie could blame him: from what Daniel Jackson had told them this would be a case of sink or swim, with the swimming option being dependent on the SGC throwing the time traveller a life preserver. Even yesterday's visit by Senator Kinsey hadn't worried the Project's core staff as much as this. That was a matter of fending off a politician – something they'd survived several times in the past – but none of them knew what disclosure would mean for either the Leap or the Leaper himself.

Idly he noted that Tina had left the area on the pretext of checking Ziggy's not inconsiderable collection of transformers – maybe the masts on the surface as well, if he'd heard her correctly. The power requirements and strength of their transmissions made this a wise move (given the difficulty of reaching inside Cheyenne Mountain, and the likelihood that Dr Beckett would be kept underground for the foreseeable future), but he couldn't help but suspect that Tina's timing was related to the Admiral's terminally bad mood.

Sighing he returned his attentions to the computer before him. Al couldn't return to the Imaging Chamber until Tina's diagnostics were complete, so Gooshie resigned himself to ignoring the distracting slip-slip of the Project Director's shoes and opened his email account. Moments later the normally sedentary programmer was on his feet, his chair ricocheting across the room and knocking Al out of his self-induced stupor.

"Jesus, Gooshie! What was that for?" The other man yelled irritably, causing the scientist's face to become as red as his hair.

He pointed to his monitor. "It's Jay. He's been made redundant – effective immediately."

Al wasn't having any of it. "And who the hell is Jay?"

"My nephew!"

"Lucky man." The reply was deadpan.

Rolling his eyes, Gooshie attempted to convey the enormity of this news to his friend-cum-boss. "Al, yesterday Colonel O'Neill confirmed that Jay works – worked – at Stargate Command!"

"Oh. Oh!" Al sat down heavily. "Ziggy.. what's the likelihood of this being linked to our Leap?"

The computer responded quickly. "Without access to Dr Felger's personnel records this is difficult to calculate, however I estimate a broad probability of 87.2."

"Why does she always have to start with a disclaimer?" Gooshie heard Al mutter indiscreetly. "OK, could you page Dr Jackson and get him in here?"

"I have already taken that liberty," 'she' responded testily. "Should I recall Dr Martinez-O'Farrell also?"

The man in charge shook his head. "No, if this means what I'm hoping it doesn't we'll need those parts in working order sooner rather than later."

A door swished open to reveal a wide-eyed archaeologist, and Gooshie remembered that he'd retreated to the Waiting Room with a newspaper and Gooshie's spare glasses, claiming that he didn't want to get underfoot. It wasn't like he'd remember anything once the Leap ended, the programmer thought wryly, _if_ it ended.

"How can I help?" The younger man asked, clearly not sure whether to be grateful or worried that he was needed. "Have you seen Dr Beckett again?"

Al shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Daniel. Gooshie?"

Two heads swivelled in his direction, catching him off-guard. "Uh.. Dr Jackson, do you know a programmer at the SGC by the name of Jay Felger?"

The target of his question blinked, frowning. "Call me Daniel, and yes.. vaguely.. Why? And how do you know where he works? I thought –"

"Jack accidentally mentioned his name while he was here," Al interrupted smoothly. "Gooshie here put two and two together and came up with his sister's kid. Seems he's just been sacked, and we're worried that this is some kind of knock-on from our Leap here."

"Oh…" Daniel echoed Al's response unknowingly, fidgeting as he looked between the pair. "Well I'm afraid I really couldn't say – he's in a completely different department to me, after all."

Gooshie squeezed his eyes shut, then reached over to his computer and printed off the email a couple of times. It was private, yes, but under these circumstances it was worth sharing nonetheless.

Grabbing the paper from the printer he handed one copy to Dr Jackson and slid the other across the central island to Al. "Read what he says, please. This was completely out of the blue as far as he's concerned – and while he does tend toward exaggeration I could never believe that Jay would lie about something so serious."

"He's asking if you can help him find another job," Al noted dryly.

"He knows I work for the Navy, and Isabel made sure that I knew he'd found a fascinating job with the Air Force," he shrugged, unrepentant and defensive. "If I was out of work I'd probably try the same route: there aren't so many civilians willing to work with the military, even fewer with security clearance – especially this high."

Dr Jackson nodded in agreement. "Dr Fisichella's right. It's very different to what you'd find in private industry or academia – though once in, it's hard to get out, not least because classified work makes publication difficult –"

Al threw his hands up in apparent frustration. "We pay you well don't we? And you get to work on things that no-one else will see for years!"

The two consultants shared a look, which drew a sigh from the room's sole military occupant.

"Ok, so employment conditions aside – Daniel, have you heard any rumours about civilian staff being laid off? Felger in particular?"

"No, not at all," the archaeologist admitted. "To be summarily dismissed would take a extremely large mistake on Dr Felger's part, and what little I've heard suggests that he's great at what he was.. um.. hired to do. But –" he continued hurriedly, "this email says he was made redundant. The SGC doesn't make people redundant! The very definition of redundant is 'no longer needed' and trust me, the SGC's needs wouldn't change that quickly. Also, as Dr Fisichella –"

"Gooshie," the man in question insisted with a small smile.

"Gooshie then. As Gooshie said, civilians with clearance aren't exactly dime a dozen – in fact Sam – Major Carter – told me the other day that the R&D division was hiring. That and General Hammond would have ordered some sort of performance management prior to taking any steps towards dismissal, which would have hit the base grapevine." Daniel winced with embarrassment as he elaborated, "It's not like we can talk about work at home, so it's pretty active. That and Sam's his supervisor: she hates the managerial part of her role and would have grumbled, not specifics, but something at least."

The Admiral sighed heavily. "Ok, so our next step is to contact this kid and see if he can give us any more information. Gooshie?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have his number?"

"Uh.. are you sure this is a good idea, Al?"

"No, Gooshie I'm not, so get on with it before I change my mind." The Project Director's expression was strained. "We need to know how this happened."

The redheaded scientist blinked. "But Al, I don't understand why you care that Jay has lost his job – and he really shouldn't be a reason to change Dr Beckett's priorities, not when someone's life is at risk. It's not ethical!"

"That's not what I'm worried about, Gooshie – not in the slightest."

Dr Jackson suddenly sat up straight, exhaling sharply. "You think.. Oh no, you think that the program's been shut down somehow?"

"It's possible, don't you think?" Al spread his hands helplessly. "Why else would they suddenly make people redundant? With the current upheaval in the White House we could be looking at an early election, so I wouldn't be surprised if there's more sneaky manoeuvring going on than usual."

"Kinsey!"

Both Daniel and Al jumped at Gooshie's cry.

"Don't you see?" the programmer continued, eager to make up for his earlier density by sharing his lightbulb. "Al, he was 'in the area' yesterday and came over as soon as heard about our lockdown – what's to say he didn't visit Cheyenne Mountain as well? It's not that far by government jet, and it's within his remit."

The three men sat back and absorbed this thought.

"It's possible.." Al allowed, eventually. "Even if he believed our little ruse, he'd have nothing to lose in the short-term by cutting funding to a huge project like the SGC. That doesn't answer the question of whether it's something we've caused though –"

"That's immaterial!" Dr Jackson exclaimed, leaning across the desk in evident distress. "You have to stop this from happening!"

Hesitating only for a moment, the Admiral reached round and squeezed Daniel's shoulder. "Don't worry, we're going to try as hard as we can. You guys save the planet – literally – and we can't afford to lose that. It's even more important that your Major Carter and General Hammond believe our Sam now; but Gooshie, I still need you to call your nephew. If the base grapevine is as fast as Daniel here says, he could be our best source of information."

Gooshie was doubtful. He knew that Al was trying to reassure Daniel by playing the authoritative leader card, but for all his openness Gooshie knew that Jay took just as much pride in being made privy to secrets as he did in his work. He'd been the same as a child, taunting his siblings with "I know something that you don't" and his report card to make up for lack of popularity and sporting ability.

"I'll give it my best shot.." he agreed unenthusiastically. "I just hope that Isabel is out of the house –"

"He lives with his mother?" Al was incredulous, his comment breaking the sombre mood unintentionally.

Nodding, Gooshie continued. "Yes, and she's a terrible gossip. I haven't called her for months – I could be on the phone for hours before she'll let up and let me talk to Jay!"

"So I'll pretend to be a head-hunter for the Pentagon," Daniel offered unexpectedly, grinning shyly at the open-mouthed looks he received. "What? You've never used that sort of tactic before?"

Al laughed shortly. "We work with the past, Daniel."

The archaeologist flushed. "Oh. Right. Well it's great for getting past secretaries.. um.. anyway, if Felger's mom hears that the Pentagon is calling her newly-redundant son with a possible job offer – on a Sunday! – she's not going to waste any time passing him the phone is she?"

"I didn't expect such sneakiness from you, Dr Jackson, but that's fantastic!" The Admiral took a cigar out of his pocket and began chewing it, smirking at Daniel's mumble of 'well when you're labelled as a laughingstock..' "Gooshie, get that number and dial away."

Ziggy's computer-generated tones caught them off guard. "That will not be necessary, Dr Fisichella. I have located the appropriate directory entry and can dial whenever ready. I will also bypass the switchboard and route the call in such a way that only a thorough investigation would reveal its existence."

For once Gooshie saw a smile of genuine appreciation from Al, something he rarely allowed where 'Her Royal Highness' was concerned. "Great thinking, Ziggy – you ready, Daniel?"

The archaeologist nodded, flashing a smile at Gooshie. "Uh-huh. You, Gooshie?"

"Yes," he squeaked, hoping that the smile plastered on his face didn't look too fake.

"Fantastic!" Al proclaimed, clapping his hands loudly and rubbing them in evident glee. "Let's get this show on the road – dial her up, Ziggy!"

Daniel started visibly at those words, then shook himself and looked around in minor desperation as the sound of a ringing phone resounded through the Control Room.

Realising what the other man was looking for, Gooshie put a hand on his arm and smiled supportively. "With Ziggy helping, we won't need a handset: just talk out loud, and Jay will hear you loud and clear. She'll even filter out our voices – the Admiral's and mine – if we make any comments."

"Nice system," the Leapee replied weakly.

"HELLO? FELGER RESIDENCE, THE LADY OF THE HOUSE SPEAKING!"

"Yeouch! Tone it down, Ziggy!" Al's pained admonishment was almost as loud as Isabel Felger's greeting, but thankfully she gave no indication that she'd heard him.

Gooshie watched Dr Jackson's expression clear as he gave a little cough in the style of bureaucrats everywhere. "Uh, hello Mrs Felger. I would like to speak to _Doctor_ Felger, if you please?"

Inwardly cringing, the programmer was amazed to hear a stammer from his sister.

"Oh! Uh, of course!" Apparently collecting herself, she continued in a stronger voice. "But who should I say is calling? My son is a very busy man, you know!"

"Hmph," Daniel sniffed, giving every impression of being displeased at the hold-up. "I am calling on behalf of Professor John Frink at the Pentagon, _madam_, who wishes to speak to Dr Felger most urgently!"

"Why of course he does, sir," Isabel replied ingratiatingly – a side of his sibling that Gooshie never thought to hear. "Just one moment." A muffled 'JASON! Come down here THIS INSTANT!' was heard, swiftly followed by, "He shouldn't be much longer. Uh, thank you for holding."

"No problem, Mrs Felger," Daniel answered smugly, giving Gooshie a thumbs up.

On the other side of the Control Room, Al chuckled in amusement. "Professor Frink?"

"I needed a name, that one just sounded right," Daniel cocked his head in apparent confusion, then stopped hurriedly, a strangled noise in his throat preceding a slap to the forehead. "Oh god, it's official: I've spent far too much time with Jack!"

At Gooshie's own confusion, Al explained with a cheery grin. "Frink's the mad scientist on the Simpsons."

"Oh." The programmer blinked. The Simpsons? This wasn't anything he recognised, and he dismissed the curious reference as his nephew's slightly pompous voice came to the phone.

"Hello? Dr Felger speaking."

Both Daniel and Al looked in Gooshie's direction, encouraging smiles to the fore. He took a deep breath.

"Jay? It's your uncle Guiseppe – but just act like I really am some professor at the Pentagon! Whatever you do, your mom can't hear this, ok?" Gooshie urged quietly, knowing that Isabel would be hanging around trying to eavesdrop. "It has to do with the SGC."

There was an audible gulp over the line, then a rustling as Dr Felger covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Thank you mother, I'll be taking this call in my study" was accompanied by footfalls and a closing door. "Ok, uncle Gooshie – how the hell do you know about the Stargate program?"

Jay's voice was somewhere between hurt and fierce, and Gooshie's heart went out to him as he gave a deflecting reply. "I've been working for the government longer than you have, Jay – isn't that why you emailed me?"

"Yeh, and? Can you help me get another job?"

"It's a definite possibility, Jay, but first we want to try fixing what just went wrong at the SGC," Gooshie answered, his fingers crossed. "I need you to tell me what happened."

"Tell him that you or your boss knows Jack, Gooshie – Felger idolises him," Daniel whispered cautiously.

The programmer nodded, inwardly groaning as he remembered his nephew's childhood obsession with comic book heroes. "Uh, my boss is a, uh, friend of Colonel Jack O'Neill, so –"

"Colonel O'Neill is dead," Felger spluttered loudly, something Gooshie knew was covering genuine anguish. "How do you plan to fix that?"

Dr Jackson's teary eyes and set jaw told him that Jay wasn't the only one who'd miss O'Neill, obnoxious as the man was.

"I can't promise something like that," was his response, careful avoiding Daniel's new glare. "But if you can tell me what happened, how you lost your job, that we may be able to fix."

Felger wasn't having any of this. "Yeh, and who's we?"

All eyes turned to Al, who made a 'who, me?' face, then shrugged. "Dr Felger, this is Admiral Albert Calavicci. I command this little project down in New Mexico and I would be ever so grateful for your assistance in this matter. We may not be as big or bad as the SGC, but rest assured that we do our part."

"Sir!" Felger's embarrassment was clear despite the miles. "Uh.. well.. much as I appreciate your efforts, sir, the SGC has been closed down. Most of the equipment has already been shipped to Nellis, and surplus staff have been made redundant." He cleared his throat nervously. "There may not be much to save?"

The stern shake of Al's head ruled out any admission of time travel on Gooshie's part, so he tried the calm route again. "Just start with telling us what led to the closure if you can, ok Jay? Anything that might have made it easier for this to get rushed through."

"Uh, ok.." They heard the hiss of a soda bottle being opened. "I could get my clearance pulled for this, you know that don't you uncle Gooshie? I don't know where they send civilians who give out classified information, but it can't be any nicer than Leavenworth."

"This is a secure line, Dr Felger – and we're not likely to tell anyone, whether or not we can help," Al stated in his 'command' voice. It rarely got exercised at Project Quantum Leap; Gooshie hoped he wouldn't get a taste for it. "Now, did this start with Jack O'Neill's.. passing?"

"Well.." Felger hiccupped, or was it burped? "I don't think so. Not really. There was a security breach in one of the other labs a little before that; pretty much the entire base was turned upside down trying to find the culprit. Then I heard that Dr Jackson got taken into custody, which is weird because it was his office –"

"Was he well-treated, Felger?" Al interrupted harshly.

Gooshie glanced at Daniel and they shared a strange grin. The show of caring wasn't really for the archaeologist's benefit, they both knew that – it was the sign of a helpless man looking out for his best friend the only way he could.

"Uh, I imagine so.." Jay answered hesitantly. "Even if, uh.. he wasn't, um.. feeling.. himself –" There was a small cough. "Even then the SFs wouldn't hurt him unnecessarily. He's one of us, y'know? The good guys."

"That's great Jay, really," Gooshie spoke up again, while Al's mouth twisted in a bitter smile at Felger's turn of phrase and Daniel snorted quietly. "Where was Colonel O'Neill during this?"

"Oh.. he was.. elsewhere? Also under guard, but.. elsewhere."

"Do you know why?" Al asked, not making an issue of the other man's deliberate vagueness. They all knew he meant the Alpha site.

Jay gave a weak laugh. "Why would I know? I'm just a –"

"Felger.." the Admiral added warningly.

"Oh ok, he was in a wheelchair with an ankle injury that mysteriously vanished!" The words spilled out in a rush. "One of the nurses may have made mention that the Chief Medical Officer was called to check it out.." he added morosely.

"See, base grapevine," Daniel said quietly, rolling his eyes.

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, the whirring and beeping of Ziggy's systems irritating the sombre mood. Gooshie was sure that Al wanted to ask about Colonel O'Neill's actual.. death.. but he could understand the Admiral's reticence, particularly with Dr Jackson present.

"Uh.. you guys still there?" Felger's confusion rang out.

Al looked at Daniel, receiving a downcast nod in response, then took a deep breath. "Dr Felger, what do you know of the circumstances surrounding Colonel O'Neill's death? Was he still.. elsewhere?"

"Mm-hmm.."

"He was still wherever elsewhere is?"

"Yes." Jay's voice became a little stronger. "He and several others were caught up in a freak storm. They were evacuating the area as fast as they could, but he was still under guard and someone.. someone got trapped under a falling tree, the Colonel tried to help him, but someone else thought he was trying to escape or something.. and –"

Dr Jackson buried his face in his hands and groaned heavily, and by mutual agreement Gooshie and Al interrupted Felger's story.

"It's ok, Doctor, we get the picture."

"Enough, Jay!"

When he came back on, Felger's tone was mortified. "I'm sorry Admiral, I forgot that you and he were friends."

"No problem," was Al's terse reply as Gooshie tentatively reached over and touched Daniel's arm gently. The man hadn't been at the Project long, but no-one should hear of a friend's death like this, essentially alone.

"So.." the Admiral continued. "What happened next?"

"Uh.. well this is where the story gets a little muddled I'm afraid, sir," Jay was obviously keen to make up for his earlier indiscretion. "From what I heard, another agency took a greater interest in the security breach and sent some people in to investigate as a third party."

"NID," Dr Jackson muttered loudly. "It could only be them."

Gooshie remembered hearing that abbreviation before from both Colonel O'Neill and Daniel – both seemed to spit the letters out, so it obviously wasn't anything good.

Al shot a look in the archaeologist's direction, then repeated what he'd said since Ziggy was still filtering out Daniel's contributions to the conversation. His voice might be that of Dr Beckett at the moment, not his own, but Gooshie agreed that caution was probably a good idea.

"Was it the NID, Dr Felger?"

"Yes.. at least I think so. I know they wanted to take Dr Jackson away, and General Hammond tried to stop them, but in the end they took him to Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada. I guess he must still be there."

Daniel gave a sardonic wave and mouthed 'right here!', while Al's expression became dark and stormy.

"Anything else?" the Admiral growled.

"General Hammond raised merry hell over the kidnapping, as he put it, but the details got pretty sketchy from there on in," Felger replied apologetically. "I know the General spent a lot of time on his red phone, we were forbidden to have a memorial for Colonel O'Neill till the investigation was finished – and only then if he was cleared – so half the military personnel wanted to launch an assault on Washington DC, and I didn't want to go anywhere near Major Carter's lab for fear of being blow up by a –" he coughed suddenly, then his voice became angry. "That's not relevant. All I really know is that our funding was summarily cancelled late Friday, and I spent most of yesterday putting all my equipment and research in crates for some other.. person.. to continue in my absence."

Gooshie bit his lip. He knew how he'd feel in that situation. "Easy Jay, we're going to try to fix that, ok?"

"Sure," was the sour reply. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"Classified, Dr Felger. Even to you," Al interjected smoothly. "But I promise that if this works it'll be cleaned up so tidily that there'll be no disruption to you or your work. Now, I have only one more question: would I be right in assuming that Senator Kinsey was in your area yesterday, or possibly on Friday?"

"You would."

Dr Jackson thumped the table. "NID _and_ Kinsey?" He stood up, kicking the chair behind him and headed out of the door toward the Waiting Room, his words dissolving into what Gooshie could only assume was another language – and by his tone those words were not pretty.

The programmer looked over at Al, whose eyes were still fixed on the door. He wasn't looking best pleased either.

"Ok, uh – Jay, thanks a lot," he took up the conversation, for want of anyone else. "Like the Admiral said, we're going to get right onto what you've told us. Hopefully we will be able to make a difference and you'll be back with your research in no time, understand?"

His nephew was despondent, but there was false cheer in his voice. "Whatever you say, uncle Gooshie, whatever you say. And if this doesn't work out, do you think there's room for me at your place?"

Grimacing at the thought that his sister might move closer, Gooshie couldn't help but answer in the affirmative. "With any luck it won't come to that, but for this I think we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"What he said, Dr Felger," Al agreed quietly, with a small nod. "What he said."

There was a lull, then Jay came back on. "So, see you at Thanksgiving?"

"Failing any emergencies –"

"- emergencies," Felger joined the litany. "Yeh, I know the drill. Ok, uncle Gooshie – good luck, and speak to you soon. And I'll have to recommend that trick for getting through Mom to some of my, uh, friends."

Gooshie let out a genuine laugh. Away from Isabel, the kid wasn't all that bad. "You do that. Bye, Jay."

"Bye."

The line cut off, leaving Gooshie and Al facing each other across a table.

"So, it really is our fault. What now?"


	32. The Who's Who of Physics

Disclaimer: I write this for fun, not money.

Treat of the day: Bundaberg rum (preferably Bundy Black) with Diet Coke. Yes I know it's counter-productive, but trust me it's good!

A/N: Apologies for the delay – not quite the week I promised, was it? You can blame (in this order): **my dithering**, the sun for shining (it made me want to go for nice motorcycle rides..), my keyboard for dying, my husband for being in Australia (necessary evil), my friends for getting married in France, and my uncle for going away and appointing me granny-sitter for a week (not bad in itself, but their computer is crap). But on that note, HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANNY! She is now an illustrious 90 years old :)

A/N #2: I am neither a doctor nor a physicist, so please don't hold it against me if I've made a complete hash of the more technical aspects of this chapter! Same goes for some of the Beckett biographyhttp/ Simple Mode info, since its cobbled together from several sources. Oh yes, and I'm not even going to touch what happened in the Stargate episode _1969_.

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**Chapter 32 – The Who's Who of Physics**

**September 21st, 1998 – Stargate Command**

**SamCarter's POV**

Samantha Carter felt dirty, like she needed a shower, but it had nothing to do with dirt. She had… interacted with someone for a whole day - almost two! – without realising that it was a completely different person to whom she believed. Twice! How good a 2IC could she be, let alone a friend, if she made mistakes like that?

"Captain?"

Huh? Oh. Deep breath, Sam; get over it. "Sorry, sir. Yes, I have heard of a Dr Samuel Beckett – he won a Nobel Prize for advances in artificial intelligence a couple of years ago – however he dropped completely out of sight in 1995. Major Castleman has confirmed that there is a man by that name and title employed by the Navy, but the Project is classified beyond my level of access. Very few people would be able to mimic Dr Beckett's of quantum physics, so I could try to test his knowledge of physics and Dr Beckett's known work. It may take some time, however – it's related, but not my field of expertise."

"That's understood, Captain, and rest assured that I will be seeking the release of more information from the Pentagon," General Hammond agreed with a grim nod that encompassed all three officers at the briefing room table, then glanced at the two SFs on duty by the stairs. In the hour since the SGC's unwelcome guest had been 'captured', the base had locked down. "Is there anything you can tell us about him from the public record?"

Nodding sharply, Sam tucked away her misgivings and launched into a brief biography of the man who'd given himself up less than an hour ago. It was impressive, not to mention daunting.

"Of course, sir. Samuel Beckett was born August 8th, 1953 in Elk Ridge, Indiana. He could read at two, did calculus in his head at age five, and could beat a computer at chess at age ten. In 1970 he graduated high school and began college at MIT, graduating summa cum laude in only two years. Following this he went on to study at several other universities; he is also a doctor six times over with doctorates in medicine, neurology, artificial intelligence, quantum physics, music and.. ancient languages, along with a master's degree in archaeology."

"Quite an achievement," the General stated bluntly. "So he could probably crack our deep space telemetry cover story in no time, is that correct?"

"Yes sir, _Time_ magazine once described him as the next Einstein," Sam couldn't help but agree. She'd never met the man, but if there had been a shadow to study under while she'd been working towards her PhD, it was Dr Beckett's. That this man had been let loose within Cheyenne Mountain for well over a day was left unsaid.

Hammond frowned. "It makes me wonder why he was never recruited for this project. When did he begin his association with the Navy, Captain?"

"Quite some time ago, sir, in 1984," she replied briskly. This she knew. "An Admiral Calavicci hired him to work at a project known only as Star Bright, which seems to have been involved in developing a deep space probe. Dr Beckett's background in artificial intelligence and quantum physics would make him a valuable asset to such research." Unless of course that's as much of a cover story as deep space telemetry.. "I haven't been able to access much information, however Admiral Calavicci is currently employed at the same location as Dr Beckett in Stallions Gate, New Mexico."

"You sure that's not code for Groom Lake, Nevada?" Major Castleman remarked wryly.

Sam permitted herself a brief smile. "Yes sir, I'm sure – it's a fully naval operation with no Air Force involvement, although Project Quantum Leap, as it's called, is funded via the same channels as the SGC. Details are even sketchier regarding this project than Star Bright."

General Hammond was obviously less than happy with this revelation. "So chances are that Senator Kinsey knows about whatever they're doing there, and probably the NID as well."

"Yes sir," Sam nodded, wary of how to bring up this next piece of information regarding their visitor. "Uh, from what I can see Dr Beckett's employment has focussed entirely on his scientific specialities, however the _Time_ magazine article mentions reading hieroglyphics as one of his more unusual talents."

Three backs straightened, no doubt remembering that pesky doctorate in ancient languages she'd mentioned earlier. Pesky? She'd obviously been around Colonel O'Neill too much..

"Anything else?" Janet asked weakly, then caught herself and glanced at the General apologetically. His smile was small but sympathetic as he indicated that Sam should answer the question.

"Uh, Dr Beckett also played piano at Carnegie Hall when he was 19 years old and has trained in several martial arts – standard unknown."

"Oh.." Janet whispered softly, and Sam could see that she felt just as guilty about mistaking this man for Colonel O'Neill and Daniel. They would commiserate over a few bottles of wine when this was over, she was sure of it.

General Hammond's cough their attention back to the moment, and his expression was grim. "People, I think it's clear that if someone was going to infiltrate Stargate Command with the aim of gathering information as possible, this man would be an ideal candidate. His array of qualifications are eerily well-suited to our work here, from quantum physics to ancient languages – hell, even neurology is relevant when you consider the research into how a Gould controls it's host – so we need to know whether he's passed on that information yet, and if so what."

"Sir?" Janet ventured hesitantly.

"Doctor?"

"Sir, I could be playing devil's advocate here, but there is the possibility that Dr Beckett is telling the truth." The petite doctor sounded more confident as she reminded them all: "Stranger things have happened."

Sam couldn't argue to the truth in that statement; she travelled to other planets and studied alien technology for a living after all. Teal'c looked a third of his true age thanks to a larva in his gut and Daniel had even been to an alternate reality.

"Be that as it may, Dr Fraiser, we need to treat this as a worst case scenario until otherwise proven." The General was firm. "We still have a dead-ringer for Dr Jackson in the holding cell and a Colonel who may or may not have been compromised off-world. Yes, Major?"

Major Castleman, who had obviously been taking notes, lifted his head and directed his question at Sam. "What about his family?"

"Sir?" She blinked, quickly scanning her notes for anything that might be relevant.

"Spouse, children, parents, siblings – what's their history? Is there any way that he could have been compromised through their connections?" the dour Marine elaborated impatiently.

Mentally Sam slapped herself – she should have picked up on the Major's thought more quickly than that. "It's possible sir, but we'd need to investigate further. Dr Beckett's parents were dairy farmers, however both his siblings are also linked to the Navy – his brother served as a SEAL in Vietnam and his sister is married to a naval captain based in Pearl Harbour. His wife is listed as a Dr Donna Alessi, similarly employed at Project Quantum Leap as a quantum physicist, no children."

Castleman raised his eyebrows, commenting briefly: "I'm almost relieved to hear that." Louder then: "General, with your permission I'd like to investigate this avenue further? "

"Of course, Major. Captain, what can you tell us about this string theory Dr Beckett mentioned?" General Hammond regained control of the conversation smoothly.

Sam pursed her lips. "According to the Beckett-LoNigro String Theory, time travel is possible within one's own lifetime."

Six sceptical eyes focussed on the young Captain, who could only stand her ground and go into detail.

Taking a deep breath, she related the layman's explanation she'd found during her initial search. "Imagine that your life is represented by a piece of string. One end of the string represents your birth, the other your death. If you tie the ends together, your life is a loop. Ball the loop and the days of your life touch each other out of sequence, and moving – or 'leaping', as they term it – from one point to another would move you back and forth within your own lifetime."

"Is Dr Beckett is suggesting that he's been able to put this theory into practice?" Hammond asked eventually.

"He's certainly implied that sir. He stated that he's from 5 days into the future, but has been away from his 'present' long enough that it's as unknown to him as it is to us. There's a great deal that I can't even begin to understand though, for instance how it works, let alone the absence of a paradox – the implications, that possibility of _changing history_ – sir, I can't even imagine the Goa'uld playing with something so fragile."

The base commander held up a hand, effectively stopping Sam in her tracks. "Captain, has Dr Beckett indicated why this alleged time travel involves looking like a complete stranger at a top secret USAF installation whose line of work just happens to fit his area of expertise?"

"Only a little sir, and only regarding his appearance," Sam replied, noting the General's rebuke and hoping that she wasn't blushing. "Apparently what we see is the aura of the person he's.. replaced, which would explain why his fingerprints don't match his appearance, but I'm at a loss to explain how that's possible or why it should be the case."

"And he believes that Dr Jackson is currently in the future? Which is where Colonel O'Neill may or may not have been locked in a white room by.. Doctor?"

Janet coughed slightly before filling in the blanks. "Uh, a man in weird clothes and a woman named Ziggy."

General Hammond shook his head in apparent frustration. "People, we have a real mystery on our hands here. For the moment our 'guest' is being kept in a holding cell, but I understand that Isolation Room 2 is being prepped to receive him?"

"That's correct, sir" Janet replied. "When Major Castleman's staff are ready I'd like to begin a full range of tests – blood work, MRI, CAT scan etc - and since Dr, uh, _Beckett_ hasn't displayed any violent behaviour I'd like to have him contained in somewhat nicer surroundings than the holding cell. It may help to keep him cooperative, though given his martial arts training I would like a minimum of two SFs on guard."

Unable to help herself, Sam wondered how the intruder would respond to the observation deck above the Iso Room itself. The place was a goldfish bowl, no doubt about it.

"Agreed, subject to the man's future behaviour of course. Major Castleman?"

The Marine looked up from his notes. "My staff are still checking the man's basic biodata against the central database to confirm that this is Dr Beckett under the, uh.. aura.. but as Captain Carter mentioned we have confirmed Beckett's status as a civilian consultant to the US Navy. As such I don't anticipate much trouble in locating the appropriate identification files, and I will be conducting a full interview on my return to Level 12. I am wary of how easy he's making it for us now that he's decided to come clean however."

"You suspect further foul play?" the Texan General was not amused.

"Merely aware that all avenues should be covered, sir," Castleman replied resolutely. "I believe that Dr Fraiser's medical tests should go a long way towards providing a match to the files on record, but I would be happier if Captain Carter can assess his deep understanding of Dr Beckett's known specialities as well as this supposed time travel theory."

"Receiving you loud and clear, Major. We need to know that he's not leading us up the garden path once more, as he so clearly admits he did in the case of Dr Jackson and Colonel O'Neill," Hammond responded, obviously disturbed by the twists this intruder alert was taking. "People, we need to know who this man is – but more than that we need to know what he's doing here and how in the Sam Hill he can fool us all so completely. He may be from Earth, but I don't need to remind you that there certain parts of our government would like nothing better than to shut us down."

Murmurs of "yessir" reverberated around the room.

"Sir," Janet spoke up again. "When do you intend to bring Colonel O'Neill back from the Alpha site?"

"Not until we have a clearer picture of our 'new' intruder, Doctor," the General replied decisively. "I'd like to confirm that our man is back just as much as you do, but we can't put them both through your equipment at the same time. I would also like Major Castleman's staff to verify the fingerprints of every other member of this command – here at the SGC and at the Alpha site – before we re-introduce another possible look-alike to Earth."

With a final cast around the table, the base commander stood up and was rapidly followed by his officers.

"That's all for now, but I'd like you back here at 1500 with some concrete information. Dismissed."

On the way back to her lab, Sam caught Janet glancing her way in an unsubtle attempt to gauge how she was feeling.

"I'm fine, Janet," she assured the petite doctor, certain that she wouldn't be believed.

A quiet snort was her reward. "You keep telling yourself that, Sam. I'm not fine, so you're probably itching for a punching bag. Care to share?"

"Not really."

Up ahead, Castleman was holding the elevator for them. Sam was glad of the opportunity to avoid her friend's questions and jogged into the car, giving the Marine a grateful nod as she passed through the doors. He'd already punched the button for Level 12, so she swiped her card and selected Levels 21 and 19 – the infirmary and her lab respectively. Turning back to Janet, she found herself on the receiving end of a minor glare and ducked her head.

Major Castleman's deep voice interrupted their silent dispute. "The prisoner should be ready for you within the next quarter hour, Dr Fraiser."

"Oh, well thank you, Major," Janet replied with deceptive sweetness. "I'll send a nurse down with a wheelchair as soon as the equipment has been prepared."

Castleman's response was a strangled cough, and Sam couldn't help but smirk. He'd already caught the sharp end of Janet's tongue earlier for trying to frogmarch his new prisoner to a holding cell after Sam's alert, despite the fact that a damaged ankle was his primary means of identification. Threats of long physicals and over-sized needles were probably involved, if she knew Janet – although words were weapons enough when it came to this small woman's armoury. One that she was also on the wrong side of right now.

The elevator doors opened onto Level 21 and Janet stepped out, then held the door a moment. "I'll let you know when I'm done with Dr Beckett, _Captain_. It shouldn't be more than an hour, perhaps an hour and a half. Maybe we can finish our chat then, too."

The note of 'we _will_' wasn't restrained enough to stop Sam from nodding reflexively, so she gave a small smile and nodded a second time. "Of course, thank you."

"Good," was Janet's final word as she released the door, and seconds later the car stopped again for Level 19.

Bidding Major Castleman good luck, Sam headed to her lab and was pleased to note that the printer had almost finished spooling the most detailed, unclassified paper on the string theory of time travel she'd located so far. Flicking to the back pages she quickly noted some papers in the bibliography that she didn't recognise and set up a web search to track them down. She knew she was good, but not good enough to leap frog other physicists' years of research – and reading around the subject would come in useful for when she began her interview of the supposed Dr Beckett himself.

Sam dug out a new notebook and highlighter as she returned to the first page, pushing her anger and shame to one side. By the second page she quietly swapped for a double-sized whiteboard and an array of coloured pens, and an hour or so later one of Major Castleman's Marines found a dishevelled Captain Carter in her lab, surrounded by a wealth of equations.

"Sir?"

"Shh!"

Sam could almost sense him standing at attention in the doorway, probably looking anywhere but at her or her whiteboard. The thought brought her up hard and reminded her why she'd started analysing this theory in the first place – and as happened on the odd occasion, she'd gotten lost in her work. None of her team were available to remind her when to stop.. although Daniel was just as likely to play the zoned out academic as she was.

"Just one moment," she apologised briefly, shooting him a quick smile before focussing on his trademark jarhead haircut. "That's it!"

Sure that the young man would be forever confused by her strange response, Sam beamed as she scribbled another line of calculations that disproved her previous assumption of the value of 'q'. Slowly but surely, she was getting there. If shorn hair was what it took to spark off a train of thought, who was she to complain?

After a few associated corrections, Sam stood back to admire her handiwork and nodded in satisfaction before turning back to the door. "How can I help you, corpsman?"

His unblinking posture was a testament to Marine drill sergeants everywhere, as if he hadn't noticed anything strange about her actions. A Teal'c-like voice echoed in her mind as she remembered the previous night's movie: 'do not question the ways of the officer, young padawan..'

"Dr Fraiser is nearly finished with the prisoner, sir."

Sam did blink then, shaking it off as she realised why the soldier was addressing her as 'sir' and looked for his nametag and rank. "I'm Air Force, Private Hillier, not USMC – call me ma'am or Captain, but not sir, please."

"Yes sir!" he acknowledged, not batting an eyelid as her lips twisted in a wry smile. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

Laughing inwardly, and recognising that any laugh was good, she replied, "No, Private, nothing else from me."

"Thank you, sir!"

Sam sobered up as he left the lab, hitting the 'print' button on the whiteboard and gathering up the array of scientific articles that had taken over her desk. How she was going to find out what she needed from this man was anyone's guess, and she could only hope that 'Dr Beckett' was still feeling talkative. If she read this information correctly though, fixing the problem would be nigh on impossible. The unclassified papers mentioned no details, but she was sure that somewhere out there the Navy had the specs for what was referred to as a 'quantum leap accelerator' – and if Beckett had told her the truth earlier, there was a working model in New Mexico.

Arms full, she scanned the room one last time before deciding that she didn't really need anything else, then headed for the elevator and Janet's office – not that she wanted to chat about her feelings, but she did want to know the doctor's preliminary test results.

"Hey," the red-haired medic greeted her.

"Hey," Sam returned. "Any news?"

Janet raised an eyebrow. "Business before pleasure?"

Sam fixed a plaintive smile on her face that said 'please', and thankfully her friend gave in and beckoned her round the desk.

"Ok, ok – Major Castleman told me that as far as fingerprints and handwriting go, we have a match with the Navy's records for Dr Samuel Beckett. But Sam, those records haven't been updated for several years. You know how it is: every couple of years they take a new photo for the ID cards, do the inky fingers thing all over again, mostly in case of new scars I guess, and people's signatures can change a little over time." Janet looked radiated concern. "They still have him registered as an employee, but I can't see how even a long-standing civilian consultant could get out of those checks."

"Unless he hasn't been there," Sam mused. That was what the man claimed, after all.

"Exactly. As for my tests – the blood work will take a while longer to confirm, but come take a look at these EEG readings."

Intrigued, Sam did as she was told. "What am I looking at?"

Janet brought two graphs up on her computer screen – one labelled 'Jackson.DM – 980917', the other 'Subject.Beckett.S – 980921'.

"Thankfully Daniel was scanned only a few days ago, along with the rest of your team – that should help when the General gives the go-ahead to bring back Colonel O'Neill, too," Janet began, then tapped the second graph. "This is, of course, our mystery man. Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Can't say I have.." Sam breathed. Her medical training was limited to first aid in the field, but as a physicist she understood the principles behind EEG scans. "Is that two patterns?"

"In a nutshell, but these here – the ones that match Daniel's usual brainwaves – are at a far lower strength than they should be. We actually had to boost the machine's power to pick up on them." There was wonder in Janet's tone. "That was Dr Beckett's idea, by the way. He was as interested in what the results of these tests would be as I was!"

"Or put on a good show of it?"

The doctor shook her head. "I honestly don't think that's the case, Sam. It's funny, but he spent most of the last hour apologising for leading me on earlier – I visited 'Daniel' when I heard that Colonel O'Neill was being held at the Alpha site."

"And you believe him?" Sam was a little incredulous.

Janet had the grace to look sheepish. "You know that look that Daniel gets when he's genuinely sorry for something? On the odd occasion when he's not being stubborn and trying to convince the Colonel that he was right, that is."

"He gave you the puppy-dog eyes?"

"Almost, but not quite. It wasn't really a Daniel expression, just close to it – and with the same effects. He's either a very good actor –"

"Which we've already established," Sam reminded her warningly.

"True.. but.. well, you tell me what you think once you've spoken to him properly," Janet finished. "The questions he was asking about the equipment we were using though, it definitely wasn't Daniel talking. He _wanted_ us to search for the second pattern, and he was genuinely interested as well as sorry."

Sam shook her head, annoyed. "We'd expect to see two patterns with a Goa'uld, wouldn't we?"

"Have you ever heard of a Goa'uld wanting proof of the host's continued existence?" the doctor retorted. "That and the second pattern is more like a shadow, an echo." She smiled weakly. "Dr Beckett's theory is that it's the link that transmits Daniel's physical aura from wherever – or whenever – he is."

They shared a confused look.

"So you really think this man is Dr Samuel Beckett?" Sam probed.

Janet shrugged. "I have no idea, but I can't call him Daniel can I? It may or may not be his true name, but if it keeps him happy and cooperative I'm willing to play along. As for why he's here.. my jury's still out."

"Anything from the MRI?"

The doctor's expression was inscrutable as she brought up the named scan.

"Now that, I can't say. There's more activity than usual in his superior and inferior colliculi, parts of our primitive brain structure that research suggests process visual and auditory information." She took an audible breath and looked into Sam's eyes. "If I was going to go along with this 'aura' theory, I would guess that this is something to do with why we see, hear and – heaven help me – _feel_ Daniel Jackson rather than a complete stranger."

"And if you weren't going along with that theory?" Sam asked gently.

Janet's gaze dropped and she sighed heavily. "No idea – I'm not a neurologist, and our local specialist is still in a fit over these results. That part of the brain usually runs on autopilot, if you get my meaning. It's like the appendix: a evolutionary legacy whose function has more or less been usurped by more modern equivalents."

A knock on the door caused both women to break away from the computer.

"Dr Fraiser – your X-rays are ready," a technical sergeant announced, waving a large envelope.

"Wonderful," the petite doctor declared, immediately turning on the wall-mounted light box behind her desk and removing a similar envelope from a file marked "O'Neill, Col. J. J." on her desk. "Sam?"

Smiling, Sam took the envelope from the tech and dismissed him with thanks before handing the package to her friend. Moments later the pair were gazing at near-identical X-rays, speechless. As far as Sam could see, the only difference was the faint outline of the foot itself – the brighter bone structure was indistinguishable. The placement of the bones was not just similar, but exact.

"Wow," was all she could come up with. "So I guess this is the physical aura at work?"

"I would say so," Janet confirmed, her tone equally amazed. "Skin deep, or so it seems. And again, Dr Beckett was just as interested as I was – if not more so. He made me promised to show him the results when they came back. I took the first scan when the man we believed was Colonel O'Neill took a tumble down the Gate ramp. It turned out to be a sprain, as you know, but at the time we needed to double check in case there was a fracture. An ideal opportunity to study this 'aura' phenomenon further, obviously."

"Obviously.." Sam echoed, then realised that she should be getting on to her interview with the man himself. "Look Jan –"

"You have to go," her friend finished, smiling. "Quite an enigma we have here, don't you think?"

She rolled her eyes in response. "Do you have any spare copies of those X-rays? I'm meant to test his knowledge of physics and this string theory more than anything else, but I could take them along as a bonus and see what his reaction is."

"Good idea, but bring them back when you're done?"

"Of course."

Janet put the films in a new envelope and handed them to Sam, but kept hold of one end for a moment. Confused, the blonde woman met her gaze and frowned.

"What?"

"Sit down a moment."

Sighing, Sam did as she was told. She wasn't going to get away as easily as she'd hoped after all. "I'm fine, Janet – really."

"So you say, but I want to know that you're not going to let your friendship and concern for Daniel to colour this interview too much."

"I –"

"Sam, it's going to happen. I saw your expression during the meeting earlier, remember? You're going to look at this man, hear him speak, and your conscious mind will register him as Daniel Jackson well before it thinks of Dr Beckett. Then you're going to judge him by that, regardless of the whys and wherefores." Janet opened up a drawer and pulled out another folder. "I have one last scan for you to look at, a CAT scan. Please note the complete lack of a Goa'uld."

Obediently, Sam looked down at the paper before her. "Ok, so he's not a Goa'uld."

"Remember that Sam, and take a moment in the observation deck before you go in there, ok?"

The suggestion was a strange one.

"May I ask why?"

Janet quirked her mouth into some semblance of a smile. "Sure. I want you to see him interacting with my nurses – speech patterns, expressions, mannerisms. It might help you overwrite some of those preconceived notions that are probably floating around in your mind from when he shook the living daylights out of you by confessing."

Sam was momentarily offended, but she understood what Janet's rationale. Daniel Jackson was a teammate, and one of her best friends to boot. If it wasn't for the fact that she was the SGC's best-qualified physicist, General Hammond probably would have given the job of interviewing 'Dr Beckett' to someone else on the grounds that she was too close to the situation. Her earlier, knee-jerk reaction was proof of that if nothing else.

Finally she nodded. "Ok, I'll do that – and I'll try to keep my head together while he runs rings around me with all these equations."

The medical doctor grinned at the pile of paperwork that Sam had picked up again. "The Colonel will be amazed to hear that anyone could run rings around you, Sam. He may just fall over backwards in shock." She cocked her head to one side. "By the time you're done with Dr Beckett, Colonel O'Neill will be close to finishing the most complete medical he's ever had the misfortune to experience."

"I may send those X-rays back via messenger then," Sam replied glibly to cover her apprehension. Much as she might resent this Dr Beckett's presence right now, it would be nothing to what her CO's reaction would be.

Janet waggled her eyebrows. "Lucky you for having the choice. Now get out there and test our 'new Einstein' – I have work to do."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam mock-saluted her fellow Captain - though as the SGC's chief medical officer she could overrule anyone, even the General, given the right circumstances. She squared her shoulders and double-checked that she had everything. "See you in the briefing room at 1500?"

"Of course, now git!"

"Gitting.."


	33. When It Rains, It Pours

**Chapter 33 – Back to Basics**

Disclaimer: Today's episode is brought to you with the aid of caffeine and Green Day.

Treat of the day: Green & Black's Maya Gold (spicy dark chocolate)

A/N: **Please don't kill me!** No, Sam & Sam do not have a chat in this chapter – that's in the next one, and it's giving me a headache of massive proportions. My aim is to have that one done, and maybe even an "Inevitable Exposure" chapter too, before I go to Australia for two weeks (23rd Sept). My progress while down under will be directly proportional to how much time hubby can take off work and whether he leaves the laptop at home for me to play with. In the meantime, remember my attempt at a subplot? Hasn't been seen for a while, and now is the time for it to bite back..

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**September 26th, 1998 – Project Quantum Leap**

**Daniel Jackson's POV**

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose and decided that this must be how Jack felt when deserted by an over-eager archaeologist with a penchant for trouble. Knowing that something bad was bound to happen – fated, for want of a better word – yet powerless to do anything about it. Yet. Somehow they always came out of these scrapes in one piece. It was just a matter of.. waiting.

In a moment of frustration, he kicked back from the desk and abandoned his current reading material: Dr Beckett's thesis for his archaeology Masters. Interesting, particularly considering Al's comments about their run-in with Ptah-Hotep earlier, but really not useful right now. Normally he'd bury himself in work when he was this worried, but all his materials were back in the base. Or maybe not, now. Who knew?

Right now he was in Sam Beckett's old office – still full of assorted personal items, proving that his friends still hadn't given up on bringing him home. That was a comforting thought, given his position as the physicist's current alter ego. Dr Beeks had escorted him here before leaving the base for another assignment, offering it as nicer alternative to the Waiting Room. She was right, and the overflowing bookcases did make him feel at home, but apart for the 'hobby' thesis their contents may as well have been gibberish. Sam _Carter_, on the other hand, would have had a field day. Maybe she did, five days ago.

Idly Daniel grabbed a sketchpad and tried to replicate the symbols of his latest riddle: the minute and confusing phrase inscribed on so-called 'popcorn machine'. His memory wasn't photographic, but when it came to mysterious writings it might as well be because the detail was what counted. Eyes screwed up in concentration, his pen hovered over the paper as he tried to recall every stroke, dot and inflection that made up the ancient Goa'uld characters. If he couldn't be helpful to the current crisis, the least he could do was to attack this muddle..

"Daniel! There you are! I bring caffeine."

Speaking of helpful.. He took the proffered mug with a grateful smile. "Admiral – any news?"

The other man's grimace said it all. "Nada. We just tried again and couldn't get through – do you think they could be actively trying to block us out?"

The archaeologist bit his lip and tried not to 'self-hug', as Jack called it. "Um, I guess.. if Dr Beckett told them about you, I guess they might.."

"Yeh. Great," Al huffed, pulling a well-chewed cigar from inside his jacket and shoving it into his mouth. "Either way I feel as helpless as a baby."

Daniel's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Likewise."

"Watcha workin' on?"

Shades of O'Neill.. "A translation, although I can't be certain whether I've remembered the characters correctly, have no reference materials and may never be in a position to make use of anything I figure out."

His voice became strained and he dropped his head with a loud sigh. An unfamiliar hand squeezed his shoulder.

"I hear you, kid," Al muttered, then pulled up a chair. "Tell me all about it anyway – it'll take our minds off things for a while."

Daniel pulled off the glasses Gooshie had lent him and rubbed his eyes (the prescription was close, but different enough to make his head swim after a while). "Are you sure you want to know? There isn't somewhere else you're meant to be?"

"I've been kicked out of the Control Room, ok?" was the growled reply.

Oh.

"Well, we found a device on our last mission that seems to be quite important to the Goa'uld we, uh, stole it from.." A quick glance at the military man showed that he was actually listening, so Daniel continued. "We have no idea what it does, but there was this one inscription in a very old dialect that may give us a clue. So far every attempt to translate it has sounded like a fortune cookie, and –"

A snort of laughter cut him off, followed by a muffled 'sorry'.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. "Admiral."

"Doctor."

They glared in mutual frustration until Daniel leaned back and crossed his arms.

"What went wrong here, Al?"

Admiral Calavicci's body language became defensive immediately. "Wrong?"

Debating the value of baiting the project director, Daniel suddenly decided that he really didn't care.

"Your best friend has spent the last few years bouncing around in time, 'fixing what once went wrong', but I really don't think that this was what the Navy was looking for, was it? They're one genius down, Al, and let's face it the Pentagon has always been more interested in weaponry than humanitarian aid." The archaeologist leaned forward, hands flat on the desk between them. "What did they think they were getting, Al?"

The older man scowled. "We are _not_ having this conversation, Daniel."

"Oh yes we are," Daniel scoffed. "And how's this for bonus points – what do they think they still have? Don't get me wrong – I think what you're doing here is great – you already told me about your run-in with Kinsey the other day. There's got to be something special that keeps this place funded."

"Sam," Al replied stiffly. "They want Sam back."

Close, but no cigar, and Dr Jackson's famous stubborn streak was coming out to play.

"Nuh-uh, I don't think so. I'm one of their precious civilian consultants too, remember? They love us, but only when we follow orders. Becoming trapped in the past probably wasn't part of the plan. Sure, getting him back would be a bonus these days, but I don't think that's the only reason these lights are still on after so long. Try again."

Silence from the naval corner.

"I presume that the idea was him to come back, Al, right? Sam wasn't meant to be stuck out there, leaping around, was he? Do they really –"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!"

Daniel's mouth hung open, his focus falling apart at the sight of the Admiral's obvious pain. He lowered his eyes, embarrassed – ashamed – that he'd let himself needle the other man so mercilessly.

"It was an accident," Al repeated softly. "And if you really must know, they want information."

He itched to ask what kind of information Al meant, but figured that he'd done enough right now. If the man wanted to share he would.

Eventually, Daniel looked up and their eyes met. "I don't know what came over me.." he whispered by way of an apology.

This time Al was the one with a half-smile, head cocked to one side. "I do, and I guess I can't blame you. Not completely, anyway."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Al started laughing softly. Not quite what Daniel had expected, but at least he wasn't yelling. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and waited for whatever was coming, too nervous to even look at his mystery hieroglyphs.

"Visiting the past was always our aim," the other man began, the laughter becoming a self-deprecating chuckle. "Oh yeh. Learn from history, that was what Sam wanted to do: focus on some of the world's most controversial moments, leap into suitably anonymous bystander and find out what _really _happened, not what the winning side recorded. That was the closest we were going to come to changing things, just re-writing the odd textbook.."

Chewing his lip guiltily, Daniel forced himself to ask yet again: "So what went wrong?"

Al's mouth twisted. "Money, of course. All that time and money building this place, designing the systems, and they suddenly decided that the upkeep wouldn't be worth it. Personally I think they wanted to steal Ziggy, since she's the world's only artificial intelligence.. at least I think she is?"

The archaeologist blinked. Like he'd know? "Uh.."

"Probably. Gooshie and Tina maintain her ok, but they both admit they couldn't build another without Sam's help." Al shrugged. "Either way the powers that be decided to pull our funding, so Sam did the only thing he could think of – he set all the controls, locked us out, and vanished in a flash of light."

Daniel's jaw dropped, but Al wasn't finished.

"I was pissed, but thought hey, at least we get to try this baby out and maybe we can impress the boys in DC while we're at it – but the rest really is history. No focus, no targeting, no predictability, and very little strategic use.. at least not without some really tenuous links in reports submitted by yours truly. Oh yes, and no retrieval, not that the Joint Chiefs seem to care about that these days," the Admiral shook his head tiredly. "And I'm running out of excuses, which is why Kinsey's breathing down my neck."

Aching to make up for his cruel words only a few minutes ago, Daniel reached out. "You do good work here, all of you do."

Al snorted. "Course we do, but the measurable affects are negligible. We know they're there, but we can't quantify them and for the most part there is no military or political knock-on – just enough to keep us alive in fact, and I'm not joking. Which could be why our lights are still on and the SGC's aren't, if you get my meaning."

"What?"

The Navy ex-pilot looked uncomfortable now. "Every time it looks like we're about to get shut down, Sam's leap seems to brush something important in a 'big picture' sense. Not that we know about it until afterwards.. He broke into an apartment building during one Leap – supposedly to, uh, reunite a young woman with her father – and whoop-dee-do, when we review the records it turns out that in the original history no-one ever went looking for burglars in the Watergate hotel back in 1972."

Daniel, who'd been sipping his coffee, spluttered spectacularly. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. If you like I can show you preserved data files showing that once upon a time Nixon served a full second term. Either way we're still here."

"Wow."

"That's one way of putting it, but it's not as 'wow' as saving the world now is it?"

They shared an awkward glance while Daniel connected the dots, and when he did he wasn't best pleased.

"What are you saying, Al? That whatever directs Dr Beckett's leaps sent him to the SGC as some kind of mystical security breach? That this 'god, time, fate or whatever' you mentioned earlier has sacrificed Stargate Command in order to preserve Project Quantum Leap?"

The other man held up his hands in surrender. "I haven't got a clue, Daniel – truly. All I know is that Sam hasn't Leaped out of there yet. Sure the probabilities say that he's there to save Jack's life, but there could be an ulterior motive. Again. To save this project, or that one, or both, or neither.."

"Great."

"You said it." Al took a gulp of his own coffee now, then gesticulated vaguely. "Of course the Navy would prefer that we develop Leaping into an art. We have people here whose entire job description is to come up with ways to target Leaps as originally planned. They think reprogramming Ziggy is the key, but if it were that simple the patch would have been written years ago. And if they get it to work.. I swear I heard someone muttering about assassinating Hitler as a baby, though of course that would be a damned stupid idea."

"Nice idea though," Daniel offered, reviewing what he knew of the grandfather paradox. "He didn't leave any kids."

"Nice idea until you wonder who'd fill his empty shoes. Better? Worse? Who knows? Small-scale is good, we like small-scale. Nice, anonymous feel-good Leaps suit me just fine – even if they can be damned frustrating," the Admiral muttered. "Surgical strikes would give me a headache, let alone the rest of the world."

A bell rang in the back of Daniel's mind. Sentences and full-blown thoughts were trying to form back there, but he didn't know where they were headed – yet.

"Surgical strikes?"

His companion nodded dryly. "Y'know – like a proper military strategy. Take aim, fire, then vanish. The perfect spy, assassin, saboteur.. whatever's needed."

Wide-eyed, Daniel stared at the symbols he'd sketched earlier.

"Oh my god."

"Excuse me?"

Oops, Al obviously hadn't finished. Never mind.

"That's it!"

"What's it, Daniel?"

Grinning inanely, then nervously, the archaeologist picked up the forgotten pad and waved it in front of Al.

"The popcorn machine, Al – that's what it does, that has to be it. I mean, I still don't know what this says, but.. I probably been obsessing over a bit of graffiti! And.. oh my god, this is – wow." His brain was in a whirl, thoughts clicking into place as he remembered Teal'c's brief history of the Goa'uld, Hemuset. "Al, we have to tell them!"

Unsurprisingly the Admiral looked a little perplexed.

"Tell who what, Daniel?" he asked patiently.

But Daniel was already away on his next intuitive leap. "That must be how she does it. She watches from the sidelines and tweaks things to suit her purposes, surgical strikes offered to whomever she chooses, manipulating _everything_. Al –"

"I know," the other man rolled his eyes. "We have to tell 'them'. Whatever the hell it is that you've just figured out, we have to tell 'them' – I'm guessing you mean the SGC – but the line's busy, remember?"

"Oh."

Daniel's hyperactivity deflated within seconds.

"So you think someone else has a Quantum Leap Accelerator?"

"Huh?" He looked up and met Al's questioning gaze head-on. "Uh, yes – of sorts. Maybe."

His words were rewarded with a disparaging snort. "Oh, well that makes so much sense."

Sheepishly, Daniel gathered his thoughts into a more coherent order. "Sorry Al, it's just that we've encountered an alien with a reputation of knowing what's going to happen ahead of time. Now and then she offers her 'services' – details unknown – to a System Lord facing overwhelming odds, and suddenly they're home free. That and bad things tend to happen to anyone who threatens her. No-one knows how she does it, but they know it's her."

Al frowned, but he obviously got the message. "Sounds.. strangely plausible. And pretty terrifying."

"You can say that again," Daniel agreed enthusiastically, standing up and pacing as he considered the possibilities in greater detail. "And it would explain why she was so desperate to stop us from getting through the Gate." His brow furrowed as something else occurred to him. "If this is true, I wonder where she got it from."

"What do you mean?"

"The Goa'uld are fantastic at intimidation, but their technology tends to be scavenged from other races." He had another thought. "But Dr Beckett Leaped out of Jack and into me when the Stargate became involved.. I wonder if that was due to the wormhole, or maybe the person leaping can only be a certain distance from the machine involved.."

"Or maybe their gadget is more hi-tech than ours," Al cut in, not really wanting to think about the interstellar possibilities when he still had a friend to find. "Look, I have to get back – I have an appointment in the Imaging Chamber. You can either come with or you can stay here and play with your popcorn, your call."

That brought Daniel crashing back to Earth – his knees collapsed. Grabbing the desk to hold himself he called out to the project's director, who was already halfway out of the door. "Al!"

"Daniel!" the shorter man mock-exclaimed impatiently. "Now what?"

Swallowing, the archaeologist stood up straight and prepared to re-state the obvious. "Admiral, we really have to fix this."

"No kidding."

"No really. Whether or not you realise it, Al, this just got a whole lot bigger. If I'm right and that gadget is a fully tuned _portable_ version of your quantum leap accelerator.." he took a shaky breath. "It's just been shipped to Area 51, home to some of the least scrupulous scientists on this planet – and even less scrupulous Air Force officers."

Al propped the door open with his foot and leant against the doorframe. "I thought you liked those flyboys, Daniel."

"Yes.. but did Jack ever mention the NID?"

Abruptly the door slammed shut, muffling the Admiral's yell of frustration – something for which Daniel guessed he should be grateful.

"At least he got the point.."


End file.
